


Forward, Together

by SnowyMountainside



Category: RWBY
Genre: (Kali and Ghira just don't know), Adam is nowhere to be seen and life is better that way, Blake is half Japanese from Kali and half Hawaiian from Ghira, Blake is not out or confident in their identity so there will be 'misgendering', Chinese Character, Dolts on Ice is subtle and very background; Ruby is aroace but deserves to cuddle TWO girlfriends, Dust/Grimm/Huntspeople are not present in this AU, F/F, Faunus Oppression is much more mild and not a feature of this story, Hawaiian Character, Japanese Character(s), Nonbinary Blake, Nonbinary Blake Belladonna, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Main Character, Other, Semblances are but far less incorporated and powerful, Subtle Racism, Subtle Transphobia, Summer is Costa Rican, The Xiao Longs are Central Asia diaspora, aroace Ruby, aroace Ruby Rose, aroace side character, canon character death, fake marriage au, featuring lots of domestic pining and oblivious lesbian Yang Xiao Long, real life cultural elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyMountainside/pseuds/SnowyMountainside
Summary: "Love does not consist only of gazing at each other, but in looking forward together in the same direction."Antoine de Saint-ExuperyYang Xiao Long and Blake Belladonna have never met, but they share a common problem; parents who are over eager for them to get married and settle down. They also have a looming sense of responsibility to their villages inherited by the nature of their last name. When Yang is set up on ANOTHER blind date by her father, this time with the daughter of two prominent Faunus Equity activists after they give a presentation in Patch, she humors him because it's not like she's dating anyone for real any time soon. She isn't expecting how easily she gets along with Blake, but eventually she recognizes a painful amount of herself in the other person.Inspiration strikes one day; why not get married? It gets their parents off both their backs, and Blake a free ticket out of Kuo Kuana. Not to mention, free space to explore themself. What's the worst that could happen? Both of them come to learn that none of Yang's ideas are ever simple.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Penny Polendina/Ruby Rose/Weiss Schnee
Comments: 46
Kudos: 267
Collections: Bumbleby Big Bang 2020





	Forward, Together

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Forward, Together is my first long-form story and was written for the 2020 Bumbleby Big Bang! My incredible artist is FrankieLucky ( https://frankielucky.tumblr.com ) and I was beyond lucky to have an opportunity to collaborate with her.
> 
> This story draws a *lot* on the real life inspirations for Yang and Blake, as it was inspired by a viral thread (since removed, so I cannot credit it directly) from /r/relationships about an Asian gay man who was going on marriage candidate dates to please his parents despite no interest in women, only to meet a closeted trans man and develop a great bromance. Eventually, the two marry and his husband can move to the US, go to university, and transition in peace because the "husband" has final say in how the "wife" controls their appearance.
> 
> It's great... until the OP thought that maybe his husband was signaling some romantic interest, but every time it happened, the husband seemed to freeze or flee. After 9 months, he realizes that even if his husband isn't interested in him, HE is DEFINITELY crushing on him. How do you ask your husband if he wants to date you???
> 
> While this story contains heavy cultural elements, other than advice for the Costa Rican elements of Summer Rose and how it influences our two sisters, it has not yet (as of Nov. 11th, 2020) undergone sensitivity readings. I have reached out for that oversight, and welcome any further feedback in the comments (thank you, for that labor, if you offer that!).
> 
> If you are seeing this story as one enormous story, you are seeing the alpha, unformatted edition with sweet sweet Lore edits soon to come. My goal is to come back soon to fix Ao3's formatting hatred. If you find errors or typos, please bring it on! (... gently)
> 
> I would like to thank Pugoata for her story Shelter. Not only was her commission of Frankie for a comic what got me to check out the story, the story itself the first fandom interaction I had in a while, the story an incredibly written piece, but it lives rent-free in my head and influenced a good amount of my setting. Shout out to Erin "explosivesky" Twelveclara for converting me to present tense, even if I hate it. 
> 
> Final shout-out to the INCREDIBLE FrankieLucky for her breathtaking contributions to this story. Thank you for bringing my imagination into vision! 
> 
> If you're the type to enjoy a good ol' fic playlist, please enjoy it at:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5eGKH2yFcGGYdLxXN3NGfL
> 
> However, Spotify lacked one final song for the ending;  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yp9j0ZwWaDE

\---

Yang wipes sweat off her brow on the back of her jacket sleeve as she stands up to survey the fruits of their work. They just barely are able to get the town gazebo for presentations up and ready to go with less than a day before the conference is set to start. Some conference, she thinks lazily while rolling her eyes. A town of less than a hundred people and one set of keynote speakers. Patch sure was booming. But…

She watches as a mixed family - an Iguana and her human husband, walking with a Sheep child - stroll down one of the downtown strip mall paths, seemingly light hearted as they laugh, the kid doing skipping play with the cracks in the sidewalk. Her heart aches as she remembers how it wasn’t always that way - not just in the past, but today, right now. You can pass all the reforms you want, you can enforce equality laws until you’re blue in the face, you can even kick flat up racists out of town… but it doesn’t stop the subtle things, the nuanced intentional hurt, from cropping up. She knows firsthand how easy it is to accidentally hurt someone else, and not even know you did. Her jaw clenches as tightly as her fist as she becomes lost to thoughts of her regrets.

“... Yang! Remnant to Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks!”

Feeling snuck up on, Yang instinctively throws a punch that her father easily catches and deflects. He chuckles, and the slight nervous energy to the sound is what finally causes her to reorient to her surroundings.

A large - not just big, but tall and strong - man stands behind her father, easily dwarfing him; the difficulty of that particular feat makes her blood run cold for a moment. She could tell that he knew she’s staring, but it seems like he’s patient for first time meetings; she’s silently grateful for that, because she has no idea how she could even try to pretend she isn’t having difficulty taking him in. After the shock passes though, she’s able to notice his petite companion, who seems to glow with grace and subtle beauty. She’s not trying to win pageants, but she’s clearly intentional in her presentation. Yang can respect that. 

Then she sees a third person, but Yang isn’t sure that they want Yang noticing them. They lurk with their side turned towards the Xiao Longs, head down, one arm holding the other, minimizing their silhouette like they’re trying to disappear. Despite her usual interest in reading as much as she can about a person on first sight, Yang … actually can’t get that much of a read on them. She suppresses a frown at the thought, because nothing makes you more unsafe in combat than not being able to read your opponent at all… but, this isn’t a battlefield and no one is attacking her. Today.

“Yang, these are our presenters for tomorrow, the Belladonnas. Ghira, Kali, this is my eldest daughter, Yang Xiao Long.” Tai does a half bow from the waist as he ‘presents’ her to them. Yang doesn’t even try to hide her eye roll; political formalities fit like a yardsale suit.

“A pleasure to meet you, Yang.” Ghira’s voice rolls out like thunder in the minimal space between them, large hand reaching out. When Yang reaches to take it, he instead grabs her forearm and gives it a brisk downwards shake with a pleasant smile. “Taiyang informs me that you helped lead the preparations for the gathering. My thanks.”

“Uh, heh, yeah.” Yang winces internally at her own awkwardness, feeling thrown off her rhythm by the unexpected difference in greeting. “Well, I can’t take all the credit, there’s no ‘leader’ without a crew, after all.” She smiles fondly over her shoulder where a few of the stragglers are putting away tools. 

“Wise indeed, Ms. Xiao Long.” Kali almost seems to croon, earning a confused blink. “I appreciate seeing you on sight. A leader is in the field, after all, it’s a boss who sits at a table and barks orders.”

All three Cat Faunus raise an amused eyebrow as Yang tries, and fails, to prevent a snort at the use of the word “barks”, even the one who hasn’t stopped a valiant effort to intimidate the grass. Yang tries to save face, even as her ears feel like they’re burning right off her skull, and reaches out her hand towards Kali. Once again, she’s thrown off entirely because Kali merely walks forward into her space like it’s entirely expected and wraps Yang up in a large hug, then lightly kisses her cheek before stepping back just as easily as she’d come.

“I, uh, er..” Yang blinks furiously for a moment. “Yeah, totally. In the fields, you bet’cha, Mrs. Belladonna.”

Ghira and Kali exchange a bemused look at each while Tai groans softly. Yang turns her head to the final figure, torn between wanting to respect all the classic signs that someone doesn’t want to be there and her nearly genetic desire to at least know everyone’s name. 

“I don’t believe that I caught your name.”

The next bit of body communication happens so quickly, so fluidly, that if you had told Yang about it happening the way it does, she would’ve called you a liar or intoxicated. The ears on top of the last person’s head flick forward as they pick up on the fact that now they were the one being addressed, back for a moment as if ire, then return to a neutral state. In sync with the ears, there’s a bristling of sinewy muscle, what Yang could only describe as ‘a sigh, but with their body’ in resignation, then a clearly hard won struggle to muster the effort to draw their spine up straight. They drop easily into ceremonial posture, something like what Yang commonly thinks of as military parade rest, and rather than extend a hand, they bow at the waist. It’s not in the same way that Yang usually sees in that type of greeting. It was only about a twenty, maaaybe thirty degree angle, and if she wasn’t watching it happen with grace, she would have assumed it to be major awks.

“My name is Blake.” 

As Yang’s lips move to respond, the corner of her eye catches Ghira turning as if to object to something, and Kali placing a placating hand on his distractingly broad forearm. Yang tells herself that she won’t leave this interaction at oh for three, and gives a short bow from the neck in reply.

“I don’t have the pleasure of being the one to tell you my name, but it’s a pleasure to learn yours just the same.”

Blake doesn't grace her with much of a reply, just an understated smirk and nod. Is that... meant to be an agreement? Approval? Confirmation of their own inner dialogue assuming that Yang was an idiot? She tries to ignore the part of her that always worries about social acceptance, but as Blake resumes a obscuring stance behind their father, it would be a lie to say she feels successful. She notes to herself that though the last Belladonna had introduced themself, she hadn’t caught any obvious indicator as to their gender; a pronoun button sure would be nice, honestly. She’s about to ask when Ghira starts to grumble, cutting her off.

“Sorry if our daughter comes off as… brusque. She’s a focused individual and if there’s something that demands her full attention, it’s pretty much all that’s on her mind.”

“I wish my youngest was a little more like that. If there’s something that’s captured Ruby’s mind, you aren’t going to be able to think about anything else, either. It’s all she can talk about!” Tai says with a fond, dadly sigh. “Still though, it is nice to know what’s going on in that kid’s head.”

“It is a blessing to know one’s child and their passions, Mr. Xiao Long, that much is true.” Kali smiles, but to Yang it looks pained. She’s not certain, but she thinks there’s a flicker in her gaze towards Blake, too. 

“Oh! Heh. Please, call me Tai. Mr. Xiao Long is for my students.” Tai awkwardly rubs the fluffy blonde curls at the back of his head, cheeks taking a distinctly warmer tone, and Yang dryly observes Ah, that’s where I got it to herself. “I suppose we’ve embarrassed the kids enough for one day, though. Let’s get you back to your lodgings and run over the plans for tomorrow’s event.” He grins good earnestly at Ghira as they begin to walk. “I’d grab a beer from the best bar in town with you, if you’re interested.”

“Tai, be honest.” Ghira huffs in amusement. “Is there more than one bar in this town?”

“Depends entirely on what you think qualifies as a bar!” comes the chipper reply, getting a genuine belly laugh from both of the Belladonna elders. Yang can’t help but notice that as soon as she’s released from the exchange, Blake simply… disappears. Even now, with their fathers exchanging dumb dad jokes, she just walks in the shadow that her father casts - admittedly, easy enough to do - and looks like she’s… somewhere else. Her curiosity drive is eager to rev up and chase something new, but Yang shrugs it off, literally, and rolls her stiff neck. As much as she’s eager to take in the information at the presentation tomorrow, she knows that the Belladonnas will leave almost immediately after they finish, and then it’ll seem like they were never there at all. She frowns; hopefully not entirely…

\---

It’s a few days after the Faunus education seminar - which was about as obnoxious a title she thinks she’s ever heard blow through Patch - and Yang still isn’t sure it changed anything. Still, any time she’s got a free moment to herself - an intentionally premium currency - she finds her thoughts drift to livid yellow eyes with purple shadow. It’s hard to argue with passion, she admits, then realizes she.. doesn’t really want to. A recommended book that so far hasn’t pulled a single punch, honestly a refreshing change from the normal placating tone meant to handle fragile egos, is balancing delicately between her thighs as she plays with her hair and scans the page like it holds the secrets to the Universe.

“Hey kiddo!” Tai calls as he slings a bag full to the brim with their favorite greasy diner food at Yang, who lets out a soft ‘oof’ when it hits the mark and her book clatters to the ground. “Got dinner for us while I was on my way back from town.”

“Okay what are you up to, old man? You never order at Cawl Home unless you’re trying to score brownie points. Sometimes with literal brownies.” Yang’s suspicious glare does not stop her from reaching into the bag and pulling out a dinner roll literally dripping with fake butter, however.

“Yang, you wound me!” Tai dramatically grasps his chest over his heart with both hands, taking a staggering step back. 

“And yet you aren’t denying it…”

“Well.” His voice softens as he sits on the arm of the couch opposite Yang. “What if I said I’d been talking to the Belladonna family lately?”

“The Faunus rights presenters?” Thick eyebrows knit together in confusion, then rise into her hairline as she answers a question with a question.

“Yup, the very same.”

“What about them? Are they going to come back?” She double facepalms with a groan. “Someone didn’t already fuck up again in town, did they?”

“No no no no, not that!” His frantic hand waving would be adorable, if Yang wasn’t already feeling her guard go up with concern over where this line of thought is going. “Just, you know. You remember Blake?”

Oh no.

“Daaad…” She groans again, never having left the cocooning safety of her palms. “Please, grapes, not again…”

“Now listen, Yang! She’s about your age, she’s pretty adventurous - apparently - and loves to travel…”

“Dad, I told you, I’m not interested and I’m not looking!” 

Yang doesn’t even really hear his reply as she throws her head into the armrest behind her. She hates this, every time. She really doesn’t give a damn about dating right now, let alone the idea of ‘settling down’ or ‘starting a family’ or whatever the hell Taiyang’s euphemism of the week is. No one had caught her eye despite all women existing in a default state of “extremely gorgeous”, and Yang is hardly immune to desire that sings in her blood from time to time, it just always feels… empty. She’s spent more than one night staring into the black void of her ceiling, wondering if something in her had broken when her family did. If some part of her was irreparably changed when Summer died and she lost her mother - again. Maybe Yang Xiao Long was just... destined to not have a family, she reasoned. Yeah, that makes sense. Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t have the entire island of Patch looking to her for guidance while also dismissing her for her age. It’s like having many cranky, old fart toddlers; more than enough children for anyone.

What she has no way of knowing is that across the Seas, a similar conversation is happening over breakfast for the Belladonna household. 

Blake is somehow the late riser in her family, despite habitually getting up as the Sun first begins to come over the horizon, and in universal cruelty, she is also the only one who prefers internal solace to greet the day as opposed to bubbly family time.

“Good morning, Blake!” Ghira booms with excitement. “Come come, get some hashbrowns!”

If his mention of hashbrowns - a food item they’d been introduced to on that weird island they’d presented at last week and he fell utterly in love with - hadn’t stopped her in her tracks, his odd vibrancy would have done the trick. Kali turns her head over her shoulder and gives her a sympathetic smile when Blake’s footsteps shift from the heavy plod of sleepy zombies to the cautious creep of the someone on the edge of fleeing the scene.

“Yes, darling, come make a plate. I’ve already put the kettle on for you, so tea is ready whenever you’d like.”

A sigh of defeat. “Thanks, mom.” 

“Don’t be like that, Blake, it’s a gorgeous day outside!”

“How would you know, dad? Even Faunus can hardly see it.” She softly blows on her tea, enjoying the gentle unhurried dancing of steam. She finds herself wishing she could move through life like that; she wonders if she’s actually the fucking weirdo of the family for being envious of vapor.

“She’s got you there, dearest. Now, settle down and eat your breakfast before you wear us all out.”

Ghira starts to actually pout at his wife joining in on the shut down, but even that seems to barely contain the spark in his eyes. Whatever has situated itself in his mind has REALLY got him riled up, and Blake finds herself anticipatorily bracing for impact. They’re able to eat about the first third of their meals in disciplined silence, something Blake is infinitely grateful for, but she can all nearly taste the tension in the air. It’s coming…

“So.”

There it is, she thinks, here we are. It is a testament to how the years have seasoned her willpower and dedication to respect that she does not drape herself off the back of her chair with a groan.

“What did you think about that island we were on a few weeks ago? Patch, I mean.”

“It sure was an island,” comes Blake’s deadpan reply, eyes sharp and accusing, “that sure did need a lesson - if not many lessons - in the more subtle way it is suppressing its citizens.”

“Now, Blake.” Ghira drags slowly, looking as if she just kicked a puppy in front of him. Or a baby. Maybe a Dog baby. “Nowhere is perfect, and Patch has done a fine job at supporting its Faunus residents right to a full and happy life.”

“While calling them riffraff behind closed doors, maybe.”

“Blake!” Kali chastises her, and Blake’s ears release the confrontational angle she isn’t aware they were holding.

“Sorry, mother.”

“Not me, your father.”

Blake sighs heavily, putting down her cup of tea and looking into the grey swirls floating on top. She briefly closes her eyes, seeing a sneering face saying almost those exact words, and takes a deep breath to steady the way the vision causes her to shake. Now isn’t then and here isn’t there, her parents aren’t her old tormentor, but the mere shadow of the things he had done appearing in everyday life is still enough to kickstart bone deep panic. She’ll be damned if she starts showing the cracks now, though. She consciously evens her ears out, tilting into an attentive, relaxed position as she clutches her arm under the table for comfort.

“Sorry, dad. You’re right. It is a fine island, and gorgeous. It seems… peaceful.”

Ghira beams, not even needing the apology to forgive his only child, beyond thrilled to hear her pay Patch a compliment. He puts his hand out on the table and, though she hesitates to let go of her comfort item, Blake gives his fingers a soft squeeze.

“I had hoped you might have seen it that way. What did you think about its caretakers, the Xiao Longs?”

“Xiao Longs?” Blake echos quietly, face screwing up in contemplation as she tries and tries to conjure faces to the name.

“Yes, yes, Taiyang, and his daughter, Yang! Well, I suppose there was Ruby, too, but she seemed… less involved… in the island’s day to day.”

Armed with individual names, Blake is able to recall that the blonde goofball that had escorted them around and organized the lecture in the first place was Taiyang, but she would never have been able to get there on her own. As it stands, even with an explicit reminder of Yang only brings up a dim ghost. She recalls… floundered social etiquette, but what seemed like being a sport about it, then an admirable attempt to regain ground. Curled hair stuck to sweaty skin, fly aways plastered to ruddied, freckled cheeks. Lilac eyes. A motion to wrangle a situation that was wildly running away back into something that resembled control, but… not feeling threatened by the play. Humor where fire typically stood. Yes, alright, she can kind of recall Yang Xiao Long, gazebo builder.

“I… can recall them. Mr. Xiao Long moreso than his daughter, but…”

Ghira is already eagerly twisting in his seat, the flames of hope stoked higher by the way Blake went silent. He’s too familiar with Blake’s silence to be discouraged, and knows that oftentimes when she’s quiet, that’s when she’s most engaged with a topic.

“But you do remember her! From just that short meeting!” 

Blake thinks about gold glinting at the edge of a crowd, attentive purple trained on the stage all day, even though it never comes closer and never asked questions. Yes, just a short meeting, she thinks.

“I do. What’s your angle?”

“Blake.” Ghira demurs, hurt that his daughter would imply he is working off a hidden agenda.

“You aren’t exactly subtle, dearest.” Kali rests a small hand reassuringly on Ghira’s arm, then smiles apologetically at Blake. “What your father is trying to get at, darling, is that he is curious if you’d be willing to meet with Ms. Xiao Long.” 

All the blood drains from Blake’s face to furiously circulate in her chest. While her parents haven’t been subtle about wanting her to get back in the dating scene, this is the first time they drop a specific name since… since… since Adam, she finally lets herself think the name while her guts churn in a complicated dance of fear and revulsion. The room gets smaller and smaller as her skin turns clammy and she’s clawing up her own throat trying to scream “No! No! Not again! Never again!” when she hears her own voice - whisper thin though it is - answer back;

“Why her?”

Damn it, now she’ll be able to feign disinterest, the opportunity to decline the whole ordeal now washing away in the tide. Even a negative confirmation is more encouragement than her parents need to gently press, love seeping from every pore and still strangling her every moment this exchange goes on.

“She’s very dependable, solid. Got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s heavily involved with supporting the village. Taiyang admitted that when he lost his second wife - poor man - Yang was there to help raise Ruby, despite being a child herself. She has a reputation, amongst the villagers.”

“Oh?” Blake winces, nails digging into her arm and teeth on edge. She’s all too familiar with reputations and how much damage they can do, what they can hide.

“If you need help, Yang’s the one to call.” Her father smiles brightly at her, too bright, so bright it blocks out her sense of reason. “Would you? Let us call her, I mean. N-not that I, that we, think you need h-help...”

“If you’d like.” 

It’s barely more than a light breeze scattering through leaves, her reply, and it sits like an anchor in her gut. Only her mother seems to have any appreciation or acknowledge her concerns, a familiar, pained smile that doesn’t meet her eyes reflecting back at Blake as Ghira picks up his beloved daughter in a bear hug. He’s all proud roars and exuberance that his daughter likes his idea that he misses Blake’s quiet disappearance, her slipping out of the kitchen to hide in her room; the coziest jailor’s cell amongst a world of entrapments. It is better, she knows, to be safe and padded than lay bare and bleeding on the cold cement of a harsh world.

\--

It doesn’t take Taiyang long at all - mere days - to find a frigate that will carry Bumblebee to Menagerie with her without putting them into inescapable debt, and Yang doesn’t know why it surprises her. She doesn’t know why she agrees to a stupid blind-date; oh, dad can call it whatever he wants, it’s a blind-date half a globe away from home. She doesn’t know why the Faunus kingdom still goes by Menagerie because that’s got to be awkward as hell. As she tosses and turns in her cot wedged inside the crew quarters, she figures it’s about right though; a perfect awkward setting for an awful, awkward “date”.

As dawn breaks and light stabs her eyes, the weight in her gut is equal parts seasickness and regret. You can’t run away on a ship, and there’s just one port left to drop anchor at. As she stands in front of the makeshift “wardrobe”, her fingers play over the various outfits she’s preselected. What do you even wear to a stupid, parent-arranged, dumb, stinky, blind-date that neither party wants to be at? She clenches the sleeve of a blouse suddenly; gods, would it be worse or better if Blake doesn’t want to be doing this either? The thought that Blake might be looking forward to this hadn’t occurred to her, and now she thinks she might actually be sick. She grabs the pop-up clothing rack as it rocks with the rough waters for imaginary stability, and hastily commits to an outfit. She’s not here to make a good impression, damn it, she’s here to get her father off her back for a little while more. She’ll wear what feels like armor and if Blake doesn’t like it, well, that’s Taiyang’s problem, not her’s.

\--

Pacing anxiously is all too familiar territory to Blake, but that doesn’t mean she particularly enjoys it. She alternates amongst checking her scroll, checking her nails, and finger combing her hair. She absently thanks the stars that she’s not one to chew her cheek, or there’d be a hole there by now, she’s certain. She loathes how fast her father is at helping get Yang on some sardine can to Menagerie, stat, because the eagerness he’s been exuding ever since has been sawing at her resolve to suck it up and be a good daughter. She groans as she tugs on her cheeks and does a hard turn on her heel, just in time for one ear to pick up the approach of a motorcycle.

Her heart freezes. No one on Menagerie drives a motorcycle. 

It’s like a shock right to the chest to see Yang come up over the horizon. Bumblebee is all bright colors and neon streaks amongst the natural landscape of Kuo Kuana, and Blake can’t help remembering that bright colors in nature are a warning sign; this brings death. However, Yang’s approach is careful and collected, rather than brash and reckless. Blake watches in pleased confusion as the bike dips to one side just to avoid unnecessarily rolling over a wild bloom that’s wandering bravely across the path. A tightness seizes her throat that she has no name for, but the bitterness that comes after makes her think it might have been something akin to hope. Hope for what, she’ll never guess, but the mere concept irritates her. This isn’t what she wants to be doing with her time.

Yang slows the bike in advance, giving herself a casual arrival rather than hauling ass in a garish entrance, and to give Blake plenty of time to adjust to her presence. She takes a steadying breath while she cuts the engine, exhaling slowly as she grabs her helmet to let down her hair. Her right thumb trembles a little, her only tell for nerves bubbling just beneath her skin, before she forces herself to look up and catch Blake’s gaze with a blazing smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself” is Blake’s weak-voiced call back, tucking hair behind ears that are just barely going to an upright position after the ruckus of the motor dies. The small part of Yang that still likes to think about romantic fairy tales can see a painting of it now; a lone biker looking up at a seemingly literal princess standing before what looks like a temple, midday Sun dancing through the trees behind them. It sounds like a crappy romcom that Ruby would like, with ninjas and danger around every corner. She huffs a single dry chuckle before swinging a leg over her bike in a dismount.

“What’s so funny?” Blake quickly asks, tone sharper than she cares to admit.

“Me. Or, alternatively, our fathers, depending on how you feel about this meeting.”

Yang’s smirk over her shoulder is still almost too bright to look directly at for Blake, so, she doesn’t. She lets her eyes roll over Yang’s form while the blonde puts away her riding gear in the saddlebag. The brown leather of her bomber jacket is well fitted, but it shows wear patterns and scuff marks from close calls. Gold traces down lean legs to find riding boots that are just like the jacket, and it’s not until she’s staring at the dirty heels that she realizes that not once did she see an exposed patch of skin; Yang is dressing for the ride, not for attention. Their eyes meet when she looks back up and she gives her visitor a nod of acknowledgement; she sees you, and your genuine presence. 

Honestly, Blake has to stop looking then, because the longer she looks the more she notices about Yang that gets her pulse rising. Her entire presence is quiet confidence, and while Blake hadn’t noticed all the densely packed muscle before she can’t stop staring at it now. It’s more alluring than she ever wanted one of these stupid, archaic, ritualized dates to ever be, and she isn’t prepared for Yang to actually be attractive. 

“Let’s… go with our dads are funny, then. It makes this whole farce easier, and doesn’t make us start with you making fun of yourself.” Blake tries for a smile, praying it’s not as frail as it feels.

“Huh.” Yang pauses, looking thoughtful. “Guess it does seem like that from an outside perspective, don’t it. Talk about starting on the wrong foot.” Yang’s smile is brighter, fuller, more genuine, and Blake has to look away again. “How about we go inside instead and get some lunch, and maybe it won’t be so terrible?”

“Sounds good,” Blake answers, and this time, she’s actually smiling.

They’re meeting at an actual, honest to Gods ritual hall, and Blake couldn’t be more embarrassed. Her hopes that Yang wouldn’t pick up on the gravity of the situation are dashed as soon as they reach the front door and she lets out a low whistle. Teeth grind and ears flatten, but Yang’s too busy looking at the building to notice.

“This is some premium architecture.”

“Yeah, well, it’s - wait, what did you say?”

“Somebody built this baby to last.” Yang says fondly, hand gliding along one of the support beams of a sliding panel. “I respect that.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with the building.” 

“Oh yeah, honey, get me a load bearing stud and some privacy, I think I’m here to stay.”

Blake finally laughs, and she’s shocked at how good it feels, how much relief floods her body as the coiled tension just… disappears. Yang struggles with her own paralysis, the musicality of Blake’s laughter vibrating down to her bones. It feels… sacred, somehow, like a rare text or indeed, like an ancient ritual hall set against the foothills of a mountain in a secluded grove. She blushes and hides her eyes, even though Blake isn’t looking at her, which just makes hiding more embarrassing. She runs from confrontation, by kneeling to undo the laces of her boot, by angling her back to Blake. Blake’s ears pick up that Yang is stopping already, before Blake could mention the need to take off her shoes, and she can’t rationalize the warmth that floods her chest. Not very well, anyways, as she tells herself that it’s just... touching, that someone is paying attention.

“How’d you know?”

“Give a girl some credit; I had three days to read up.” 

“Just because you could, doesn’t mean you were obligated.” Blake softly acknowledges as she toes off her slip ons.

“Yeah, but if I didn’t, then I’m just an asshole.” Yang grunts as she pops off one boot. “Who does that?”

“Yeah… Who indeed…” Blake trails slightly as she slides open the panel to the actual sitting room.

Yang frowns at Blake’s back, wondering what that’s all about, but gets distracted by the rumbling in her stomach as the smell of warm food and fresh tea hits her. Blake snorts behind her hand and gives Yang a funny look.

“What, the sailors didn’t feed you on the boat?”

“It was a tin can and it wouldn’t stop rocking side to side. Would you eat the soup?”

“Fair point.” Blake laughs again and Yang gives a sigh of relief. It won’t be utter torture for the next how ever many hours they’ll be stuck like this after all. “Well, maybe it’s not incredible, but at least it’s on dry land. Come eat. I promise there’s no like, love potion or whatever.”

“Oh? How can you be so sure? I know what it’s like having a romantic parent. They’re pretty exuberant.” For all her jests, Yang settles down on the cushion opposite Blake immediately, with appropriate posture and everything, then brings the tea to her nose with a happy sigh.

“I, uh, I made it myself.” Blake bites her lower lip and looks away as her ears fall, feeling exposed.

Yang sputters for a moment, the gravity of that sentence sinking in. She tries to recover her cool by gulping down a huge amount of tea at once, putting the cup down too hard with a hiccup. 

“T-That’s amazing. You’re amazing! Great! Thank you for the meal!” She hastily grabs a dumpling with the pair of chopsticks in front of her, clearly in a hurry to put food in her mouth to prevent more awkward sounds from dribbling out of it.

“Oh, hush up, Yang. You don’t have to compliment me.” A small, playful smile threatens to grace Blake’s face. “It’s some ancient ritual about proving you’re great wife material, or something.” Her mood sours suddenly. ”I’m not. Wife material, that is.”

“I mean, ancient misogynist tropes aside, this is delicious.” Yang frowns. “So, why do you think that?”

“Hard to be a wife when you’re not actually a woman.” Blake hisses under her breath, then immediately slaps her hands over her mouth.

“You’re free to go on,” Yang whispers after a painful silence in a voice far too soft, too tender, for Blake’s fragile soul to resist. “I’m not recording this or anything. No one else has to know.”

“I don’t identify with the concept of being a woman, I had an ex who was supposedly everything I was supposed to want or need but it was awful, I don’t feel happy about the idea of a domestic life, I don’t know what I want to do instead, and I can only cook like, six things!”

By the end, Blake’s breathing is coming in ragged gasps and her eyes are burning, nails digging at the wood of the serving table in front of her. Yang recognizes the look of trying to claw yourself back from the edge when she sees it and just calmly continues to eat lunch. She wonders which piece inside the tornado of sound is what’s causing it, but bites her tongue to stop herself spinning stories; it does no good to spin a yarn that may not exist at all. When Blake settles a little further into her skin, Yang cautiously ventures out on a limb.

“So?”

“So?” croaks Blake, head and ears snapping up, lips curled to bare teeth - like a threat.

“I mean, I can’t cook more than a few things either, but there’s tons of ways to mix it up, and like, I’m not super into the ‘make a family, build a house, make a lil’ gar-”

“Wait wait wait wait, did you just say ‘build a house’?” 

When Blake giggles, a single curled finger covering her lips it sounds frantic, even to herself. However, she’s just so grateful for the opportunity to take any attention off of herself - and the concept of a singular person or couple building a house from scratch is just so… utterly foreign to her. A small voice in the back of her head thinks it’s nice to not be the ‘foreign’ one at the table, for once.

“Yep.” Yang pops the P heavily and begins talking with her hands, despite still holding noodles in her chopsticks. “It’s a whole Thing back on Patch. Gotta raise the frame manually, no cranes or tech allowed, and you KNOW the whole village has to be involved. Like, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime, actually illegal, to cut them out, like, maybe they’d even run you out of town. I don’t know! No one would dare do it and find out!”

Blake’s laughing progressively harder as Yang flicks sauce everywhere, hands covering gradually more of her face until she’s laugh-crying into both palms. This is just… absurd. Places like that don’t exist, outside of dumb fairy tales for little kids. They’re just, lessons about morals, or values and crap like that. Things that die away in the harsh light of the adult world. Yet, when she parts her fingers just a little bit, there’s Yang; all her ridiculous, untamed, bright-eyed glory, waving around noodles on the verge of breaking like a madwoman.

“You know, if you keep shaking those noodles all about, they’re going to break.”

“Noooo!” Yang genuinely whines before hastily shoving them in her mouth. “Wasting good food is like, one of the worst things I can think of. Wasting good food and getting it on one of my few nice shirts, however, is just utterly unacceptable.”

Blake rolls her eyes at the vanity, even though she gets the feeling that it’s synthetic. She finally tries to get a few hesitant bites down, to go through the motions, but eventually she allows herself to settle on just sipping her tea. It’s easier that way, less involved when your guts are writhing like angry snakes.

“So, what about you? Why are your parents trying to play matchmaker?”

“Well, uh, to start, it’s just… parent. Singular.” Yang rubs the back of her neck and looks away, hoping this part passes fast, but then flicks her eyes up to check Blake’s face and groans. “Oh no, no, not the pity face.”

“S.. sorry? I just.. Sorry.”

“You have no way of knowing without being told.” She shrugs and seems genuinely unperturbed. “My mom… she got sick when Ruby and I were real young; I was five, Ruby wasn’t quite three. She was the best, though.” A nostalgic smile slips onto her face as she allows herself to indulge in a memory or two. “Baking cookies, solving math homework, and the lightest touch with a hairbrush you’ve ever felt, I swear. Gosh, and you know, Ruby - my little sister - she looks just like her. Like, exactly like her.” As her voice thickens, Yang gives an awkward cough and briefly darts her eyes to the window. “Anyways, she passed away after that, we never did learn what it was. Been just me, Ruby, and Pops ever since. It uh, it hit dad pretty hard, but Ruby and I had each other, and our dusty ol’ Qrow.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, you had a bird? How is that supposed to help children in need of nurturing?”

“No no,” Yang laughs, and the concerned crease in Blake’s brow eases. Yang likes it better that way. “Our uncle, his name is Qrow.”

“Wow.” Blake murmurs, trying to keep her lips shut like that will hide the laughter threatening to expose her.

“Oh, oh you don’t know the half of it. It gets better.”

“Dare I ask?” Blake deadpans, but there’s the smallest tilt at the corner of her mouth and Yang can’t resist.

“His sister’s name? Raven.”

“No.” Blake wheezes, and that’s all the warning she gives them both before she has another giggle fit. “Why did their parents hate them so much? Those are genuinely awful names!”

“I’m glad you said it, because I don’t think I’m genetically allowed to.” Yang smirks, feeling proud of herself for bringing laughter to the Faunus across the table. “Though I mean, better than naming them something like ‘Rock’ and ‘Door’ or something. People love animals.”

When Yang freezes, Blake’s laughter spell ends and she tries to compose herself, tries to summon any sort of intimidating presence and wrap it around her like a shield. An immaculately groomed and sharply angled eyebrow raises, yet the rest of her face becomes impossible to read.

“Cat got your tongue?” She offers cooly, and Yang swears it’s like she’s staring into her entire being.

“Di-, did you just…” Yang squints, like she’s having a hard time understanding the transaction taking place in front of her.

“Well, you just seemed so purrrposeful before, and now, so shy.”

Caught between a laugh and a groan, Yang’s voice can only give some sort of horrifying squeak as she takes her turn to hide her face. Unlike Blake, she’s not graceful about it, or very mindful.

“Ah dint half muh-” 

“Yang, not even I can make out what you are saying with your cheeks squished like that, and theoretically, I’d be the best person for the job.” 

Blake’s cat ears flick in a controlled manner. As she stares she can’t help thinking that if she didn’t know any better, Yang would burst into flames on the spot. Maybe she still anyways.

“I don’t have much experience having casual conversations with Faunus. N-Not because I avoid them, or anything!” 

Yang throws up her arms as if that will make it all seem less ridiculous, having no idea that it just drives Blake’s eyebrow up higher because the blonde can’t bear to look at her face out of shame. 

“Most of the Faunus who do live in Patch are pleasant folk, but, reasonably they need to be pretty insular and I’m just… Not one to push that kind of thing.” A small bit of fondness creeps onto her face amongst all the embarrassment, and Blake feels her nerves start to calm down. “I’m happy, when they feel like they can call on me, or my dad. I know it’s getting kinda better out there, but, to be getting kinda better means it had to be pretty damn bad.” 

Yang rubs the fingers of her prosthetic hand together idly as her voice drifts away into some unknown distance. 

“I know it’ll never compare, but, the small sample of assholes I have had come up to my face are more than enough to remind me that at the end of the day… We’re all just, people, trying to live our lives as best we can, and you don’t know what someone’s story is until they tell it to you. Hell, most of us wouldn’t do a lick of harm to anyone if we could help it, even if by nature we’re all prone to knocking people with our elbows from time to time. Like, say, colloquial expressions we don’t really think through, or awkward sentences in front of forefront civil rights leaders.”

Blake stops giving a damn about prim and proper as she leans forward to rest her elbow on the table, her chin on the heel of her palm. Her eyes are attentive and seem to scan Yang; something she tries to submit to without wigging out, tries to will herself to somehow become a totally obvious open book. She still can’t look Blake in the eye, so she tries watching her ears, hoping that the repeating motion of drooping then flexing with a small tilt is a … good… thing. 

She wonders at what point she started hoping this would go well. When she started to hope she’d at least leave Menagerie with a friend.

“Well, you got one thing wrong.”

“What?” Yang almost whimpers, head sinking into her shoulders in the worst impression of a turtle Blake’s ever seen.

“I’m not a forefront leader of Faunus rights.” 

She says it like it’s nothing, like she’s uninvolved, like it doesn’t matter. Yang catches the short flick of the tip of an ear and an eyebrow reflexively quirks. Now it’s Blake who won’t meet her gaze. 

“Haven’t been for a while, really. Partially because the opportunities have reduced, partially because I was… unavailable, for a time.” She blanches as she sips at the now room temperature tea, looking down at it like it’d insulted her whole lineage. “People move on. Politics change. Groups… disband.” 

A sigh drifts quietly as she looks out the window, appearing for all the world like a near-retiree, hoping like hell they’ll make it one more year.

“But, I mean, you just came to Patch and-”

“And what, Yang?” Blake casts a dark smirk at her, tone sharp for the first time. “Gave a speech? Told people who already knew the answer what words are just blatantly ugly, reminded them it’s illegal to ask people if they have a Trait on their job application forms?” A disgruntled growl rumbles as she massages the bridge of her nose, and a small part of Yang is impressed her voice can go so low; the rest of her is afraid of invoking that sort of wrath. “No, I don’t think those ‘presentations’ change anybody’s life for the better.”

“Hopefully this isn’t too insensitive, but… Not even mine?” Yang tilts her head to try and catch Blake’s attention, and for some reason, Blake gives it to her.

“Are you… coming onto me in the middle of a discussion about oppression?” Blake’s face is contorted in confusion and amusement as she leans in, like she’s going to be able to glean the truth any easier if she’s two feet closer to Yang.

“Yes. No! Wait, Brothers, I- no!” 

Yang’s face burns again, but she’s mirroring Blake’s change in proximity and now Blake can see individual freckles peppering Yang’s cheeks. It’s… endearing. Disarming. 

“I just mean, like, I know it’s not going to cause big, revolutionary change, but, the villagers are my people.” She spreads a palm across her heart and tries to ignore the emotional tremble in her entire hand. “Anything more I know, especially about the more subtle stuff that non-Faunus like me do, is that much more growth I can try to support them with. It’s that much more that I can do to make our Faunus members feel like part of the family, because they are.” She gives a sad yet hopeful smile. “Even the most majestic trees start as seeds and grow one day at a time, right?”

Blake leans back on onto her calves and swigs at the offensive leaf water (it lost the right to be called tea) to fill the silence as she mills Yang’s words over in her head. It lacks the sour note that most savior complexes bring with them, and also any suggestions of guilt mindsets. It seems sincere, and the utter lack of focus on Yang herself or on Blake puts the Cat more at ease with the statement. While she believes that Yang hadn’t been rooting around for brownie points, she got one or two for not separating herself from inside the problem, too.

“Well, Xiao Long,” Blake is grateful for the cup that’s hiding her smile when Yang winces back at the use of her last name, “You did pretty good. B minus with obvious capacity for sincere improvement. Honestly, top marks given resource availability and access to material. It’s hard learning that what you know of the world is wrong. Thanks for not making it my, or the villagers’, problem.” 

That’s when she’s willing to show Yang her smile. That’s when Yang notices how perfect Blake’s eyeliner is, how soft her wavy hair looks.

“Uh, I, mm. Th-thanks.” Yang does her turtle imitation again, and fists her hands over her knees for lack of anything better to do with them. “Heh, didn’t uh, didn’t know there’d be a pop quiz! Or, think I’d be graded. I woulda, I dunno, studied or something.”

“Not much of a pop quiz if you know it’s coming.” Blake nearly croons at her, and that sense of empty flirting is something Yang can recognize, something she can do. “Though, by the looks of it, you studied plenty.” 

Gold eyes flick briefly to Yang’s boots, to her position at the table, and an immaculate hand gestures at their cushions. She watches Yang’s throat bob and lets a brief silence settle in comfortably.

“Besides, you were right.”

“Huh?!” Yang’s head snaps up from the hole she’s been boring into her knees.

“People do love animals.” Blake smirks with a predatory glint in her eyes. “I’m partial to tuna, myself.”

It’s Yang’s turn to be a laughing mess, and Blake doesn’t even think it was that funny. She shakes her head in mild amusement and waits for Yang to come back to Remnant.

“Does it count as love if the process involves killing and eating them?”

“You haven’t explored very many libraries, have you?” 

“Blake Belladonna, I am shocked at you. Not in front of the ancient misogyny building!” Yang’s hands cover either corner of the table in front of her, like one might cover a child’s ears.

“That just proves how little you know me, Miss Xiao Long.” Blake draws herself up gracefully, but not without her own fair share of snaps and pops. “On the note of animals, though, if you’d like to meet more of the wildlife of Menagerie, it’s a perfect time to take a walk.”

Yang’s move to stand is far less refined, and she openly groans as she heaves her body upright. She rubs out a cramp in her lumbar and glances out the window to the central garden, eyes going right for the skyline. Yang would have assumed it was close to dusk if she were back on Patch, but the longer daylight period of Menagerie is throwing her off her groove. She doesn’t like the idea of walking in a strange place, and she knows that once the Sun begins its descent in earnest, it would pass by quickly. She thoughtfully flicks her eyes away from the skies and looks at Blake, really looks at her. Maybe it wasn’t the only thing in life that would leave her in the dust if she doesn’t just go for it.

“Ah, hell, why not? I’m trusting you to protect me from any crazy spiders and not leave me in the mountainside to die, though.”

“No promises,” comes an effortless reply.

“Oooo, feisty. Love it.”

\---

At the end of their walk, Yang and Blake exchange scroll contacts. Not just because they both agree that their conversations that day had felt easy and comfortable, but because they know it will get their families off their backs if they can just turn their scroll around to show them who they are messaging. It’s just happenstance, a happy accident, if their fathers occasionally catch one or the other of them staring at the screen with a fond smile or checking their notifications what seems like every thirty seconds. 

One particularly stuffy Spring evening, Yang is draped over the side of her mattress with her box fan cranked to maximum. One outstretched leg is resting a bare heel on the wall while the other foot is sock covered and tucked under her pelvis. Her head rests lightly on the ground, hair a streaking mop around her rather than the elegant halo talked about in romance novels. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth as she types, deletes, and retypes a message to Blake.

…

_Hey._

_Hey yourself._

_Aw c’mon, are we still doing that?_

_Are you ever going to use a better line than “hey”?_

_Touche, Belladonna, touche. What’cha up to?_

_Well, I was drinking my pre-bed time tea in quiet solitude on my balcony, before somebody started harassing me._

_Bed time? It’s like, 8. I thought you were a night owl._

_Yang, there’s this magical thing called “time zones”. Also, no, clearly I am a Cat and all felines must sleep a requisite 18 hours, duh._

_Oh shit, you’re right, sorry._

_You’re so weird. Here I am, trying to insult your intelligence, and you’re apologizing._

_Sorry for ruining the fun, I guess???_

_Ugh, there you go again._

Yang doesn’t immediately fire back for once, trying to figure out how to interpret Blake and if she can, a clever retort, when for the first time, Blake double messages her.

_:)_

A heavy exhale of relief explodes from her lungs, only for her own hot, muggy breath to be blown back into her face. As she coughs and complains (“Aw, gross!”), she fans her sticky tank top off her side, trying to get cooler air to circulate. Ruby’s explanation that that’s not how fans work and how it’s just moving the same hot air only faster drifts through her head briefly, and her same reply of “yeah yeah, whatever, nerd” comes back to her with a snort.

_Please tell me that Menagerie is cooler than Patch._

_Yang, we’re tropical. We have one setting; Hot._

_Oh, so it’s like you, then._

Yang freezes, having typed the easy, corny flirt and hit send before she even actually processes what she’s writing. It wasn’t meant as a serious pick up line, more like their mutually empty challenges from their first “date”. However, texting always adds extra difficulty to interpretation and she’s got a feeling that Blake is about as interested in the whole ‘settling down’ business as she is. Yang doesn’t know why, but her chest seizes at the thought she’s going to ruin their friendship before it's even begun and immediately starts typing up a rambling apology when Blake’s pingback interrupts her.

_Yeah, totally. About as hot as your butt was in those jeans. You should wear boots more often._

Something about the use of the word “butt” sets Yang off into maniacal cackling and even as Ruby yells at her to shut up, some of us are still growing and need our sleep, Yang feels more at ease now. When she sighs this time, it’s a deeply relaxing feeling and she’s able to fall into the game in earnest.

_I knew I caught you looking ;)_

_You wish, Xiao Long._

\---

Blake finds that in spite of herself, she actually quite enjoys her short exchanges with Yang. They’re little snippets at the start and end of her day, like strange book ends that don’t quite match the decoration around them. Unlike with Adam, the times when Yang doesn’t message her back doesn’t fill her with dread that somehow she’s made her mad. It’s a welcome change of pace, and they never steer too deep, skimming lightly on the surface of choppy waters. That is, they did…

_Hey Blake, what do your actual pronouns in my contacts need to be?_

A furrow that feels like it’d split her forehead in two settles in as Blake hisses quietly over her tea. She’s never had this kind of conversation, with anyone, and she’s not honestly certain she ever wanted to.

_I don’t know what you mean._

_I mean, you told me in the ancient misogyny hall, right? That you don’t really jive with the whole ‘womanhood’ thing. So, what do you actually wanna be called?_

_Is there an option for not being called anything?_

_I mean, yeah._

Blake blinks then, both at the concept and Yang’s easy acceptance that Blake actually meant it rather than a snide deflection. As far as she could tell, Yang’s either cisgender or comfortably nonconforming, but she’s handling this with ease. In truth, though she’d read about the concept of agender before, she’s never sat down to think of it as an option. She immediately knows that no, she’s got a gender… unfortunately. It just… isn’t cis.

_I’m sorry, I was kidding, but that’s not respectful to agender people. My mistake. Anyways, don’t worry about it._

_Why not? :( I want you to be able to be yourself with me. Did I do something?_

_No, you didn’t. Just, stop, Yang. Drop it._

_Oh._

_Okay._

_Sorry, I think._

_I’ll… leave it alone._

Blake can’t manage to swallow the hard lump in her throat that makes her feel like what Yang is actually saying is “I’ll leave you alone”. She’s not sure when she stopped feeling alone, when Yang had crept into her daily life, a presence as constant as the sea breeze. To her chagrin, it does actually take Yang a few days to untuck her tail from between her legs and message her again. To her shame, it’s probably because Blake herself isn’t able to message her first after her outburst, either.

_Hey Yang?_

_Yeah? Sup kitten?_

_I told you not to call me that, dweeb. Anyways, I just… wanted to say thanks._

_What for?_

_For caring enough to ask, yanno, the other day._

Yang feels a swell of warmth in her ribcage. She doesn’t know the name to call it, the reason for it, but it’s not too bad a sensation. She could welcome it to stay, she thinks. Maybe she’s just finally getting a friend who actually means something more than someone to call when you need to move a couch in the middle of the night.

_You’re welcome._

_I’ve uh, I’ve been thinking._

_About an answer I mean._

_You can… you can put they/she._

_I-in that order. I guess._

_Thanks. Again, I mean._

_Yeah._

_Let’s just…._

_Talk about literally anything else._

_Did you ever read that book I told you about?_

_Pfft, you mean the one with the weird wine in the basement? Yeah, sure did, weirdo._

_Hey, that is an actual classic, and if you think that’s a weird story, just wait until we get to my actual favorites..._

\---

It’s an accident when Yang trips over the tiny piece of information that gives her perhaps the dumbest, most insane idea she’s ever had.

_What do you even really do in Menagerie? You don’t talk about your hobbies much, outside of almost owning your own library._

_What do you do in Patch?_

It sits in her gut like a brick, and slowly all the pieces of a way too heartbreaking puzzle come crashing together. Blake’s stuck, like, actually stuck. They’re living for their parents; the strict adherence to cultural routines, the continuing participation in leadership activities despite blatant disinterest, the performative attitudes… Yang knows too intimately how little air there is in that situation, how tight the gilded cage inside your ribs crushes into the heart. When she looks outside her window, she doesn’t see a cage, not really; she sees an open field and no roadmap, which isn’t half so bad. No, it’s when she looks at Ruby and her dad, when he stares at the portrait of them with Summer above the entryway when he thinks the girls can’t see him. That’s when she sees a cage.

She wonders if Qrow would be proud of the thought why not kill two birds with one stone. She stares out at the horizon, but she’s not really seeing the vivid display of dusk settling around Patch like a blanket. She’s thinking about how feasible it would be to pretend to marry Blake Belladonna, and only a little bit thinking how insane that sounds. It’s probably a credit to Blake herself that it only sounds kind of crazy. She sends Qrow a text to ask if insanity runs in the family, but other than a “heh”, he doesn’t say anything more and he doesn’t ask why. That probably means yes, all things considered.

She spends the next three hours in various unnatural positions across all the furniture in her bedroom while scouring any and all databases she can find on what penalties, if any, there are for a farcical marriage. Ultimately, it seems to come down to the only punishment is social because legally one can’t really define who’s really married. She falls asleep boring a hole into her lip, weighing the pros and cons of the risk of Taiyang’s disappointment and the village’s judgement.

She dreams of Blake and clear, unbroken ground for an entire week. If she was a betting woman - and she is, but only when her card partners are drunk enough - she supposes it could be called a sign. As it is, she can only sigh in resigned horror at the fact that she should’ve been following her dad’s advice about decisions; if you still want it after sleeping on it for three days, it’s what you actually want.

\---

It takes Yang another two months to get the courage to speak her mind. Since then, daily texting sprees have escalated to a nightly video call while they both do their own nighttime ritual, or they do nothing at all. Sometimes, they don’t even really talk; it’s just nice to have the line open, enjoy the comfort of knowing someone who matters is around. Neither one has said it out loud, but they both know the feeling is different from when Yang hangs out with Velvet or Blake with Ilia (though sometimes Blake gets dodgy when she mentions Ilia, and Yang isn’t pressing because she figures if it matters, it’ll fall out some day). It’s supportive, stable, and easy. 

Yang wishes it would make the conversation she’s about to start and can’t take back any easier. She tries not to hold her breath, to let the pressure build explosively in her lungs. She fails.

“Hey Blake?”

“What’s up, sunburn?”

“Ugh, I thought we mutually agreed to no more dumb pet names.”

“We did, yet that one is hilarious, so it stays. Next question.”

Yang swallows so hard she swears that it’s got to be heard all the way in Vacuo, like crushing her own windpipe will make the situation easier.

“What do you think about marrying me?”

Yang can hear a book clatter to the ground, and she winces in sympathy. She’s been thinking of books as people ever since she started spending tons of time with Blake, and she hopes that the spine will be okay.

“Excuse the hell out of you?”

“No, wait, look. It’s not as dumb as it sounds.”

“Okay, well, that’s good because it sounds pretty dumb.”

“It’s just, yanno, the whole texting to keep our dads busy has worked pretty well and-”

“Yang, this is ridiculous and it isn’t funny.” 

Blake’s huff spikes the mic and Yang can’t help the wince on her face. 

“But I-”

“No, you know what, night ruined. I’m going to bed, good night Yang.”

“Bl-”

Blake Belladonna does not waste time, Yang discovers. The call ended noise seems like a clarion call, like a foghorn sounding too late as her heart sinks to the bottom of an ocean no one knows. 

“But I … meant it…”

She frowns softly as she looks at the disconnected icon on her phone. She taps out a short prodding text, but it doesn’t even get read. Something in her plummets, but, she can’t get the idea out of her head. She’s not letting this one go without a fight. You can bet on that, Belladonna.

\---

Yang waits a few days and shoots over just a normal text about the newest hilariously irrelevant town drama mill - blahdeblah has got a bee in her bonnet that dudemcman absolutely cut the wire on her sheep pen, even though there’s obvious post rot and the remaining metal also bear a suspiciously goat-like bite mark - as a buffer. It… also gets left unread. 

So does the next one, a few days later. Yang switches to a once every 10 days approach, just because she doesn’t want Blake to think she’s obsessive, but she also can’t bear the risk of letting this one go. For once in her entire life, Yang Xiao Long is invested in something outside of Patch, and she’s ready to throw down in the name of it.

What she didn’t plan on was that Ruby’s keen powers of observation would bite her in the ass. Usually, it was their dad.

“So!” Ruby declares as she enters the room and then flops down on Yang’s legs, Zwei following enthusiastically behind her and settling across Ruby's legs in turn. “What happened?”

Yang scowls. “What do you mean?”

“You’re moping.”

“I am not moping!” Yang throws the book she’s reading onto the floor, and then immediately regrets it; poor thing. 

“Yep.” Ruby pops the P, Yang’s signature move.

“Oh, don’t you pull that on me. I taught you that!”

“Yep!” 

As the P pops again, Yang lurches forward, and Ruby allows her to grab her around the neck. Yang proceeds to noogie her, and she squirms. Zwei somehow isn't disturbed an inch.

“I know you’re not actually mad at me, because you’re not using the metal hand!”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Is! Wrong!”

“I guess I’m sleeping in here with you tonight. Huh. Been a while. I think since like, I was trying to decide what major I wanted to pursue. You got all weepy about pride and me being too big and-”

“Okay okay okay okay! OKAY!!! Stop the memory lane!”

Yang sniffs heavily and rubs a palm against her watery eyes at the echo of the past. It really is like time flew by her and left her in the dust sometimes. She’s blinked, and now Ruby’s a young woman already. She’s got college friends and college homework, and she barely knew Summer but, gods, she’s already mastered her kindness and astute wisdom. It’s just one more thing that Yang wonders about, if she’s cursed because she’s not a Rose, but a Branwen under the golden spray paint of Xiao Long.

“I… D’ya remember the Belladonnas?”

“The political badasses?”

“Language!”

“Whatever, sis! Like, 4 years too late!”

“Let me dream,” Yang grouses, then sighs. “Dad wanted me to give dating their daughter a shot.”

“And?”

Ruby’s voice is too soft, too understanding. Yang wonders if Ruby knows, if she’s always known, that at the end of the day Yang is pacing around in an enclosure too small for her presence, performing for the people she loves day in and day out; praying, hoping, desperately trying to believe that maybe, just maybe, someone loves her back besides those who live in the same house and her vagabond of an uncle.

“Blake.. She’s… She’s like me, Rubes.”

“Yer gonna have to be more specific than that, Yang. You’re kind of… a lot.”

“You’re one to talk, mad scientist speed demon marathon runner whatever you are.”

“I prefer the term mechanically gifted and dashing.”

“I will kill our uncle for teaching you to be like this.”

“You’ve said that for over 10 years, sis. If it was gonna happen, it’d’ve happened.”

Yang rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest, turning her head to stare out the window. It’s not like Ruby was wrong; Yang knows she’s a handful, knows she’s too much for a lot of people, knows that despite their praise for her help there’s more than enough villagers who mumble about how reckless and rude she is. She fears that maybe, just maybe, she’s too big for this house; the house she’s loved since birth, the father she adores, the sister that at the end of the day she’s the one looking up to. It fits like last year’s coat on a teenaged frame, all limbs and broad shoulders with nowhere to go.

“I mean, she’s, trapped.”

Three agonizing beats of her heart pass.

“Oh.”

It’s then that she knows that Ruby knows everything, that maybe Ruby’s always known. She looks at Ruby with a breaking heart, and Ruby holds up her palm to silence the apology stuck in her throat.

“Don’t, Yang. I understand, and, I’ve always loved you. I think you’re the best.” She smiles, and it looks so tired to Yang. She squeezes her sister’s hand, thumbs at the complicated joints. “I’ve always looked up to you, yanno. Still do! But, we’re different, you’re different. Dad can’t see outside of Patch - what could there possibly be out there? You, you love Patch, but you’re well aware there’s more to the world than that. That there’s more to you than late night calls to help elders who fell down, to birth a calf, to rescue a kitten in a tree.” 

“Ruby, I…”

“A-bup bup! I’m not finished.”

“Brat!”

“Stubborn!”

Yang smiles at the familiar, comforting routine, and squeezes Ruby’s hand back. Zwei scoots backwards on his nubby butt and throws himself into Yang's side, licking her armpit like the fiend for stink that he is.

“So, you’ll always have an anchor here, in Patch. Maybe you don’t leave, and that’s okay, too. But, I know you need more than…” Ruby struggles with the word she wants, making fish noises with her mouth until she huffs and blows her bangs off her forehead. “All this.” A circling gesture of the room, that clearly lassoes the whole house. “And maybe, this is the start of that for you. Qrow always did like that dumb joke about birds of a feather; maybe Blake has feathers like yours.”

“I… Yeah. I think she does, Rubes.” Yang grimaces at the pain she knows simmers just beneath the surface. “I.. I have a crazy idea.”

“You frequently do!” Ruby adds cheerfully, hopping up next to Yang and drawing her legs to her chest. “So. What is it? How can I help?”

“I’m going to get Blake to marry me.”

To Ruby’s credit, she only sputters for like, a second. She blinks rapidly, then turns her head in a motion more owlish than humanish.

“How’s that gonna help, exactly?”

“Well, if we get married, someone’s gotta move, right?”

“... Oh.”

“No no no! Not me, Rubes! I could never! Not to you! I mean, if that’s the case, yanno, there’s a free ticket away from Menagerie. Blake could do whatever, then, and hey, both of our parentals will lay off our backs a little, yanno?”

Ruby squints at Yang for what feels like an eternity.

“Do you just want the excuse for a free house?”

“What?! No! … Though designing houses always has been my favorite part of village weddings.”

“Can I turn your room into a lab slash workshop slash evil lair?”

“Give me six months to make sure Blake doesn’t kick me out, then we’ll talk.”

“Deal! So. What can I do?”

Yang takes a breath, meant to steady her nerves, but all it does is show off how shaky she is. She looks down at Zwei and tries to summon some of that lionhearted courage (or dumbass bravado, depending on who was lecturing her) while ruffling between his ears.

“Hold my hand, and follow my lead.”

\--

By the time Blake remerges, it’s been a month and Yang was beginning to think she’d blown it. It’s a weird thing, when Blake’s custom vibration pattern goes off in her pocket, and she yelps as she loses her balance from the shock. She almost falls from the 10 foot height where she’s been investigating attachments points on some gutters. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, just an “Okay, I’m done being mad at you, you’re allowed texting privileges again. But! You’re on thin ice, Xiao Long.”

Somehow, it’s worth cheering for. Which does her no favors in trying not to fall and alarms the neighbor she’s helping. She tries to brush it off by saying a bee flew into her eye, which just makes the whole situation more awkward as they try to fuss over getting her a first aid kit, “or at least a glass of water to flush her eye with!” The internal groan as she realizes that she laid this trap herself can’t put a damper on the boost to her spirits that was seeing Blake’s name in her notifications again.

\---

It takes another month, but Yang’s able to get back into Blake’s good graces for at least nightly voice calls again. It’s worth it to build up slowly, she thinks, because startled prey will dart easily. She thinks of it like hunting, and the target is Blake’s anxiety. All it takes is enough patience, and some bait.

“Yo, Belladonna, wanna check out this sick injury I got helping out with those rebellious goats of Maria's I was telling you about? They busted up James' sheep pen, again.”

“Yang, what the hell? Also, duh.”

Before their cameras come on, Yang tenses down to her core and fixes the center of her lens with the most intense, honest stare she can muster. She watches as the blue holo of Blake pops up and then startles as they clearly take in Yang’s expression.

“Blake Belladonna, you should fake marry me and come be my fake wife here in Patch.”

“Yang what the fuck,” Blake rasps, unable to escape the commanding effect the red eyes staring into her have. “You can’t be serious…”

“Serious as Mrs. Maple’s biscuits. Look, you could leave Menagerie for a while, and both our families would just stop. You wouldn’t have to do anything, like, weird or whatever.” 

Yang pauses to swallow nervously, having to work her jaw a few times as she starts to lose her nerve. She keeps looking into the dead center of her lens, even as her eyes begin to water a little from the strain. If her knees are shaking, neither of them is paying them any attention. 

“We’d get the house built and you could have your own room...”

“... Well shit, you’re actually like, really doing this…” Blake bites their thumbnail, a heavy crease splitting their forehead as they try to process their reaction. They let out a strangled, barking laugh as their brain scrambles for humor to cover the hole. “Did… Did my father put you up to this?”

“You and I both know that if he did, it’d be a lot cheesier and be like this whole formal procession thing. Involve like, half of the entire population of Menagerie - including the wild life!”

Blake gives a genuine huff then, the ghost of a smile tweaking just one corner of their mouth briefly. Both hands begin to push back through their hair and they have to resist the desire to grab their ears. It’s overwhelming, their pulse is racing, it’s suddenly too hot, too hard to breathe…

“Your mom definitely didn’t do it, though she is sneakier, because I’d be forced to add something like,” Yang pauses, switching to her best worst Kali impression, “and give your parents the grandkids they deserve.” Yang mulls her lower lip around for a moment lost to thought. “She’s probably tell me to compliment your butt or something, to ‘throw her off the trail’.”

That’s the thing that pushes Blake over the edge, cracks their demeanor and exposes nothing but wild laughter with a hint of panic in their eyes. The laughter turns to hiccups as they double over wheezing for air, and Yang startles when the line goes dead. She reasons fairly easily that Blake probably accidentally hung up on her, but the image of that little crack is searing into her mind and she decides not to call back. She resolves to let Blake take the lead, even as she scuffs the floor with the toe of her boot, a slight pout scrunching up her face. She thinks that the ache of waiting for an answer might actually kill her.

Twenty minutes later, on a rooftop in Menagerie, Blake is still staring at their call log. They can’t fucking believe that they actually managed to hang up on Yang in the middle of a conversation like that. They fret the hair near their forehead in an attempt to continue soothing their panic, the familiar feeling of a chokehold around their from from the way their heart is trying to crawl up it. Their foot bounces at blurring speeds and they rock on their pelvis a little, eyes unfocusing as they finally let themself really consider Yang’s offer. It’s… it’s got it’s own appeal…

Their eyes scan Kuo Kuana, spread like a fan before the Belladonna estate and small like an ant. They suddenly feel the weight of their ancestors pushing on their spine and a sudden fear that if they don’t take this chance to leave, they’ll live an entire life underneath ghosts of those they couldn’t save and lives they couldn’t change. Their hand fists in their hair suddenly, nails pricking their scalp.

A breeze off the Ocean stops their thought spiral, and it reminds them that… Patch isn’t so unlike home, in all the ways that count. The fauna’s a little less diverse, sure, and it’s definitely more… human-oriented, but it’s a quiet island town where everybody at least pretends to try and help everyone else; a place where troublemakers don’t last long. It’s a reasonable trip to Vale, if they ever need major trade hub access. Blonde flashes through their vision with a dumb wink and finger guns, and they bark a soft, only slightly crazed laugh.

Fuck it. Would it kill them to be completely insane just this one time? Probably not, they reason. After all, Adam didn’t.

_The answer is yes._

\---

They break the news of an official courtship period to their parents at the same time, calling each other to support the idea of a big family get-together (which all parents involved are delighted by). Kali subtly accepts a small fistful of lien cards under the table from Ghira, who grouses ineffectively through his smile. Taiyang actually picks Yang up off the ground in such a way that her knees are against his chest, and Blake can’t hold back the snort at the only thing of Yang that can be seen on screen being her dangling feet.

However, Yang’s point that once Ghira’s involved things get ritualistic was no joke, because he asks in a somber voice when he can expect Yang to return to Menagerie to meet him and Kali again, formally this time. Lilac eyes dart briefly to scan Blake’s face, whose eyes are blown wide and skin becoming progressively paler. With a prayer to whatever may be listening that she’s making the right choice, Yang weakly replies;

“I wouldn’t want to presume to meet you before honoring your daughter properly. That is, after all, quite a commitment.”

Ghira’s grave expression breaks in one of sheer delight, having been holding his breath that Yang would bother learning the right clues to navigate the dance of involving yourself with the Belladonna name. She feels a phantom ache in her ribs as he expends the pent up excitement with a leap in the air and a pump of a massive fist. Blake is covering her face in one palm, eyes closed to shut out the beginnings of a headache, but there’s a tiny curl of fondness on her lips.

Kali interrupts the celebratory dads with a softly cleared throat.

“And, there’s no need to be so stuffy and old-fashioned about it. When can you come out for dinner, Yang? We’d be delighted to have you.”

Ghira’s eyes get sharply attentive again, and Yang swallows the knife in her throat.

“When can I visit without burdening you, Mrs. Belladonna?”

Ghira’s roar of pleasure vibrates the scroll, shaking the screen, and Yang can faintly hear Blake’s embarrassed Dad! through her mild dissociation. Kali manages to cut over the sound enough to plan with Tai to have Yang come over next week for a little brunch and a guided tour of the island.

Yang thinks about how, despite the way that they both complain, the love each of them have for their parents is so vibrant, so tangible, that the concept of family might as well be something the two of them can reach out and touch. Maybe some days it’s a pair of manacles, but sometimes, the weight is nice.

Unlike the prospects of having to ride in a tin can again. When it’s time to leave, Yang whispers to Bumblebee that she’ll make up for leaving on her own when she gets back, that they’ll go on a long weekend drive together, just the two of them. Somehow, she still fears that the bike will be cross with her upon returning anyways. Yang hopes that after the formal meeting with Blake’s parents, Bee’s the only one cross with her.

\---

The first time Yang visited the whole Belladonna family on Menagerie is not anything like she’s been afraid of. She’s pretty certain that it’s mostly thanks to Kali, who is all nostalgic warmth and sunny smiles. If Yang’s honest with herself, spending time with Kali is almost like looking at the Sun; it’s so bright, but it hurts more than you think anything happy can. Blake nudges her knee and tries (without success) to shoot a subtle eyebrow raise of concern. Yang always hides it with a smile, or laugh and a shake of her head.

Kali arranges for Yang to be able to drop her bag at the Manor before they head out to dinner together. Yang’s getting the impression that manual transportation is the modus operandi of Menagerie, and she finds she doesn’t mind it too much. The stares as a blonde suddenly appears with the Belladonnas aren’t intrusive, but they are clearly keenly observant. The restaurant that they stop at seats only a couple of tables at once and has low street accessibility. 

It reminds Yang of when her dad has to bring someone to their house for a “talking to” and doesn’t want to expose them to the whole village. It’s controlled, planned, and… utterly for Yang’s sake, she concludes. A neutral space, open yet private, and on the edge of the town so they don’t have to amble down the main thoroughfare. She looks at Kali, more than a little awe in her face, and Kali presses a fingertip to her lips when Ghira looks away to tease Blake about something that happened some other time they came to eat here.

Ghira loosens up once they eat together, too. He takes her on a more extended tour of the island and city, describing the history of each major site and explaining how the changes in architecture reflect the areas different Faunus’ immigrate from. He catches her more than once lightly touching a surface, reverence clear on her face, and though her face burns she can only hope that his warmth is growing affection and not protective fire.

Blake explains to their visiting “girlfriend” that their blended family culture - their father’s descended from some of the earliest settlers of Kua Kuano, but their mother’s from Mistral - means that while dates are often subdued or chaste events, it’s common for them to be all day or even all weekend affairs. They notice that this seems to put Yang more at ease and hide a smirk behind their teacup, proud they really _have_ been getting better at sensing not just that Yang’s upset, but what it’s about. They tuck it into their breast, like a secret note, and promise themself that while it’s nothing special it’s also a secret they’ll take to their grave.

They talk quietly while they guide Yang around all their favorite hiding spots, explaining why they need so many different ones; sometimes you only want to hide a little, sometimes you want to hide somewhere quiet yet other times somewhere loud, sometimes you’re hiding and also secretly hoping to be found. Their hand hesitates when running over a smooth stone and their voice emits only air. Flashes of crimson and shadow streak their vision and it’s hard to pull air into their lungs.

Yang is a silent support in moments, an unassuming palm on her lower back and a slightly kneeling posture. It’s a submissive posture, she thinks, having been in it herself, and she realizes that Yang’s waiting for her to tell her what _she_ wants. That alone is so absurd that it snaps her out of the headspace with a rough barking laugh and a finger wiping away her own tear.

“It was nothing. They were no one, really.”

Blake’s not certain if they’re lying about the panic attack, the sordid relationship, or telling the truth about themself. Regardless of what they’ve done, they can tell that Yang’s not buying it for a second. The air between them seems to crackle with tension, then Yang hops up and covers the spot Blake’s hand had stopped before.

“My mother abandoned me, abandoned us really, but I’m pretty sure it’s my fault.”

Blake’s face screws up in confusion. Who would turn away from such a gentle version of the Sun on _purpose_ as opposed to a series of mistakes? That’s all Blake had to go off of, anyways.

“You going to explain that nonsense, or do I need to have my wife committed before we’re even wed?”

“Hah hah, you joke, but I’m serious.”

“I’m pretty sure you told me that your mom died when you were like 5 from a surprise and severe illness, that all there was besides her was your dad and someone who didn’t want to be a parent.”

Yang’s expression sours a little and she scuffs the dirt with her boots. Blake wonders why Yang’s wearing biking boots without Bee with her, but figures it could be like armor. She understands the need for a layer between you and the rest of the world; books give her that. 

“Mom did, but my mother didn’t,” she huffs, bangs puffing into the air messily. It distracts Blake, makes them want to fix them back into something resembling style. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her sooner. She’s not pleasant to think about. Uh.. How to… My family was multiparented, until mom - Summer - died. My father was some sort of stupid lucky to fall in love with two women who loved him back, _and_ were pretty fond of each other, too.” Yang smirks like she knows a secret, but fades to bitterness rapidly. 

“My mother’s name was Raven, and she was an ass. Cared a whole lot about what was her’s of course, but if there was a single person who personified ‘rough around the edges’, that was her. She was only really soft or gentle with mom, but her favorite teaching technique was cuffing around the ears - dad was _not_ excluded from that, either. Our Uncle Qrow? Her twin brother, and he used to joke that if he had any brain damage, it was her fault. Heh, you know, dad might even have gotten it worse than me, now that I think about it, but Ruby never did. I’d… say that’s more to do with time than because she had any extra fondness for her, even if she looks _so_ much like Summer... “ The painful huff doesn’t require beyond human hearing to notice. “More and more every day.”

Yang crosses her arms over her chest at an imaginary chill as the Sun starts to set over the mountains in earnest, bathing them both in flame and fleeting light. Blake’s heart aches, like she’s looking at something so old that the story’s already been forgotten. She starts towards lightly touching fingers, but a memory of red stops her. Instead, she continues to watch with intention in her face, hoping Yang understands she’s hearing all of her pain as well as her words.

“When mom died, though, she was just, gone. Two days after the funeral we all woke up in the ridiculously huge bed the three of them shared and she wasn’t there. She’d been there when we’d fallen asleep, but not when the morning came. There was no note, no letter ever came, she never turned up in the news or papers. Yeah, we did actually check. Every day.”

“W-..,” they tried again with a hoarse cough, “why do you think it’s your fault?”

“Because.” Yang smiles, but it’s all tight angles and hard lines. Blake decides she doesn’t like it. “She’d always tell me about how much she hated having me, how I was so hard to handle, that I was a pain. She clearly loved my dad, even if she left like an ass, and she never said a harsh word to Ruby. I figure that… leaves me.”

Yang sighs heavily, crossing her legs with a shrug. She stares at the scuff in the dirt, a disturbance directly tracked to her actions, a gouge in the order of things.

“So, I ruined my family, and I’m hard to love, even now.” There’s a shuffle of her shoulders and Blake’s not sure if it’s a shrug or a tremble. “That’s my big secret, and now you know. So, whatever spectre it is over your shoulder, it can’t be as bad as mine.”

“Yang, I-”

“Nope,” Yang pops while thrusting a hand up for pause. “Not today, not ever if you don’t feel like it. This wasn’t a ‘I’ll show you mine, you show me yours’ kind of thing. I just wanted you to know that it’s not all smiles and goofs with me, and I’m not going to give you crap for any bruises you’ve got in life, either.”

Blake falters, not used to something offered rather than exchanged - or more frequently, demanded - and is definitely unsure what to say without having to reveal their own scars. Scars, they repeat to themself quietly as they itch briefly at their side. They aren’t sure that they could talk Yang down off her stance about her involvement in her mother’s decision, either, and somehow that hurts more than ghosts. They look over into Yang’s firm gaze and challengingly quirked eyebrow, and shake their head with a laugh.

“Thanks, Yang,” they say with a smile.

It’s a comfortable and contemplative walk back to the manor as Blake realizes; the expression of gratitude was sincere. A surprise after so long of hollow words.

\---

As is common in Menagerie, the date continues through the evening and is unspokenly expected to spill into the next day. Yang helps Kali prepare cucumbers to soak overnight in an intriguing mixture of vinegar, rice wine, spices, and sugar, and slice fine cuts of beef for another similar mixture with soy sauce instead of vinegar. She looks lighter than Blake’s ever seen her, and it warms her almost as much as her evening tea. She tries not to smile too much from behind the book she’s barely reading, occasionally hiding her burning face when her father remembers some embarrassing story or another from her childhood while working on his paperwork. Yang is obviously loving it, so Blake can’t bear to protest much louder than groans and playful whines of _DaAaaAaaaAaad!_

Yang turns bashful as she clears her throat at the end of the kitchen work to ask where she’s sleeping. One of Ghira’s thick eyebrows seem to disappear into his hairline and Yang shrinks into her shoulders, staring down at the floor sheepishly. After Kali elbows him lightly, Ghira breaks the tension with a booming belly laugh.

“There’s a guest room on the floor above Blake’s. I’ll bend on some things, but I can’t abandon ALL sensibilities!” Blake makes a noise not dissimilar to a tea kettle, and he laughs again. “Leave an old man his fun. Seriously though, please,” he genuinely pleads, a grimace on his face, “I have very sensitive ears, and I just, I’d prefer not to know.”

“Yes, alright, _thank_ you FATHER, we’ll be going now!”

Both of their parents chuckle good naturedly as Blake all but shoves Yang up the primary stairwell, not even stopping whenever the blonde woman’s shins would knock painfully into a ledge. When they can no longer hear the sounds of their parents tese, they finally stop for breath at the bottom of the final flight. Yang tilts her head in amuse, pushing dishelven locks behind an ear.

“Not used to being the butt of a joke, are you?”

“Uhm,” Blake starts, chewing slightly on her lower lip, “Not usually anyone to tell jokes to.”

“Mmm, shame.”

“Oh?”

Yang leans heavy on the doorframe and smiles, all sunshine and warmth, while crossing her arms and one leg over the other. Blake doesn’t think they survive under that kind of gaze, like fragile flowers trying to creep into the burn of the deserts over the mountains. They swallow tightly and tilt their chin up, indignant and waiting.

“Yeah, _princess_ , your stories are cute.”

“Wh..! I _Excuse you!_ I am not-”

“Good night Blake!”

She finds herself laughing at the sound of Blake stamping her foot. As she reaches the top platform she realizes that the laughter is relaxed and easy, something she can’t remember having in… a long time. Her laughter fades into a warm smile as she opens the guest door, only to be replaced with shock.

_Blake, what the fuck? How goddamn loaded ARE you?_

_YANG! Cut it out!!! I’m not! Even if my parents were, that doesn’t mean I am!_

_Yo, it looks like a five-star hotel up here._

_My GRANDFATHER was a CARPENTER, oh my gods. Sometimes people make things? By hand?_

_You mean like newly wed houses? ;)_

_… Oh no._

_Ohhhhh yes! I haven’t forgotten! There’s blueprints on my wall_ **_right now_ ** _!_

Blake flops back dramatically on her bed and _groans_ , but can’t stop the smirk tickling her cheeks. She hears a _heavy_ thud directly above her head, then has a horrifying realization.

_… Yang_

_Sup?_

_I think your bed is right above mine._

_…_

There’s a tension silence for a moment, and then Blake hears the drumbeat of one of their favorite songs clomping through the ceiling above them. They can’t stop the laugh, but they throw one of their pillows at the ceiling with an ineffective _thwump_ and it stops.

_Well, you could’ve been a lot worse, I suppose._

_Nah._

_Your dad has sensitive ears, after all._

Blake switches off her scroll and buries her face into her bed before screaming in embarrassment. Somehow, _she_ doesn’t feel like _she’s_ being made fun of, though. The lifting feeling in her chest at the thought is freeing, and also, scary.

\---

\---

On another date, Blake's visiting Patch for the third time. As they talk about nothing at all and share easy laughs, she suddenly has a burning question. It doesn't fade after three bad pop songs, so she figures it won't leave her in peace.

  
"Hey Yang?"  
"Eh?"  
"Well, it's just... I've noticed that your truck always smells just a little bit like stale cigarette smoke, but I've never seen you or your father smoke, not once. So, why's your truck smell like this?"

Yang's face sours immediately, and she sucks on her teeth to stall for time. Blake immediately regrets asking, but recognizes when a bell rings that can't be ignored.

"Do you remember me telling you about my mother?"  
"The, uhm, the one who..."  
"The one who left without a word? Yeah, that's the one," Yang grumbles as she takes one hand off the wheel and scratches the side of her head. Blake wishes she wouldn't do that. "After she left, dad got rid of or packed away most of her stuff. Hurt too much, you know? However, he figured one day I'd grow up and I could choose if I kept anything of her in my life. For the most part... I didn't want to."

Her eyes are still on the road, to Blake's complete relief, but they hazard a guess that Yang's driving more by rote than by sight. 

"Then, after I got my license, my dad rolls the beater truck that he'd always kept in the corner out of the shed and tells me 'hey, this was your mother's, and it's yours if you want it. Be careful, she bites'. Before you ask, no, I don't know why we always talk about it like it's a horse, but it's unquestionably the right way. Anyways, the thing smelled _god_ _s_ awful at first. I tried EVERYTHING to get the smell out. Baking soda, detailing, reupholster, recarpet, leaving the doors wide open for a week with box fans, allllllll of the folktales for how to get rid of it. As you can smell, it never quite left."

"That's when I figured, it was kind of like the scar she left us with. It never quite leaves, and sometimes the troubles act up, but it's a part of the truck forever. Not sure what either of us would look like if she'd done any other thing."

Yang pats the dashboard with a bittersweet fondness, and Blake contemplates never asking another question for the rest of their entire life. They also realize just how deep Yang's waters go, and wonder what other things lurk in the darkness, going unsaid until someone trips over them.

\---

A week after they announce their engagement to their families (which involved more than a few dadly tears) and Yang’s pacing in front of the sliding door to her father’s shed. Her fingers tremble even as she rubs them together, creating knots and then separating once again. She keeps telling herself that this circuit’s the last one, that she’ll just, open the door and strike up a conversation with her father like it’s nothing. That’s been the mantra for fifteen minutes, and even she’s close to admitting defeat.

The gentle hum of the circular saw stops abruptly and the door opens for her. When she turns to look at her father, he’s all gentle warmth except for the slight hint of mirth hidden in the wrinkles near his eyes. She wonders when he got so many crows feet, and if her uncle has properly harassed him about them yet; she wonders how many can be attributed directly to her own missteps, but swallows down the fleeting heat of shame.

“Let me guess. You want to talk wedding plans, but even the word wedding sends a cold chill up your spine.”

“H-.. How’d you guess?”

“Because I wore a rut in front of your grandfather’s shed, just like you’ve made for mine.”

Yang yelps in surprise as she glances at her feet, ears immediately alight. She tries to little success to scuff the displaced dirt and rock back into place, but Taiyang chuckles and grabs one shoulder gently.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. C’mon in, let’s talk.”

Beneath his hand, Yang feels small for the first time in years. It’s… not unpleasant though, closer to his warm bearhugs during thunderstorms than when he’d guide her up to her room for a discussion. She slips onto a workbench with practiced ease, waiting while he opens up the mini fridge. She catches the bottle of soda he tosses her way without looking up from her toes, popping the cap off on the edge of the bench.

“Hey, I just resurfaced that! Don’t scratch the wood!”

“As if the buffer takes that much work, old man.”

“Just for that, you get to do it.”

“Mmm, can’t hear you, too much fizzy bubbles.”

He shakes his head with a gentle laugh, and it softens the knot in her chest. After taking a swig of his beer, he uses the butt of the glass to poke the tip of her boots.

“So, what’s got my sunny dragon stormy?”

“Daaaad…” she whines, but even as the vowel slides out she can’t keep the smile off her face, “At least you didn’t call me little this time.”

“You’ll always be little to me, Yang. I have, like, half a head on you.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll always be old, old man.”

“I earned these grey hairs before you turned five, I’ll have you know. That I have any blonde left is a testament to my vitality.”

They share a mutual smirky stare, before easy laughter settles into the space around them. Yang always forgets that despite whatever tension remains between them related to her mother, to her youth with Ruby, to the village… no one ever disarms tension like he does. She takes a long pull of soda like it’ll give her nerves of steel then sets it down with a sigh.

“What was your wedding to mom like?”

Taiyang blinks rapidly, surprise painted across his face as clear as a stop sign. He shakes his head slightly, rubbing at his stubble as he drawls an uncertain note out to stall.

“Gotta be honest, kid, that’s not what I was expecting you to ask.”

“What was it?”

“I expected something more about what happens after.”

“DAD! C’mon! Be serious!” 

“Oh, I’m totally serious.” His face goes grim. “Taxes are no joke.”

Yang throws a paint brush at him harmlessly, cheeks puffed out in exasperation. He gamely plays along, putting his arms up in a joke of a block. He heaves himself up onto the bench next to her and inhales through his nose heavily. She can track the exact moment his eyes unfocus into the past, turning from piercing gaze to a calm ocean right in front of her.

“It was… Like nothing I’ve ever done or will ever do again, Yang. We mostly did things related to the way she grew up, even though I never knew much of her family. Heh, wish you could have seen it, you wouldn’t have recognized me. I was all awkward limbs and nervous steps.” He huffs softly and displaces the shag over his eyes, a fond yet bittersweet smile spreading slowly. “Her cousins had to coach me through a literal song and dance. A big, bombastic serenade was required to start the ceremony, and they kept telling me that there was no way they’d let me get away without dancing if I wanted to marry ‘their little Summer’. Truth be told though, I think she put them up to it.”

He pauses, eyes closing in thought while he runs a thumb along the neck of his beer. Already, Yang’s heart is heavy again. Her memory of her mom’s mischievous smile before she’d pounce her for a tickle fight, of her triumphant got’cha when Yang cried mercy, of the smile Yang only ever saw when she looked at her father or mother… they feel much too faint already, yet they also weigh on her spirit like chains. She knows that if she thought ghosts were real, there’s no way Summer wasn’t watching them right now.

“It wasn’t just me performing though. She stitched this incredible work of art into my dress shirt. It was like a mural, I swear. Not a stitch wasn’t purposeful, changing the ebb and flow of the story it told. I.. I can show you some time, it’s still... up in the attic.” He coughs around the emotions trapping his words in his thought, the sea in his eyes looking rough. “I practiced a speech where I gave her thirteen lien a-”

“Why thirteen?” Yang interrupts, nose scrunching up in confusion.

“I was getting there, hothead. Just listen.” When he laughs this time, it’s thick and warm, buzzes in her bones like whiskey. “It was a metaphor, for taking care of her no matter when, no matter what, even if we were destitute - or worse. As I recall, every groom swore the thirteenth lien just a little differently.” He sizes her up with a playful eyebrow, squarely back in the present. “I suspect it’d work just as well for a bride, though.”

Yang rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, but it lacks any of her usual fire. A moment passes, then two, and she lays her head on his shoulder wordlessly. Like a familiar dance, his arm wraps around her and she feels that sensation of being small once again.

“Why’d you ask, Yang?”

Taiyang can feel the air weigh down upon them both oppressively now, and he almost regrets asking. He gives Yang her time, watching the crease in her brow furrow and relax in time her lips parting scant centimeters. He tries, but he can’t remember Yang ever being this quiet for so long, and that’s almost as painful as missing both his lovers. He can see Summer’s warmth and Raven’s fire etched in her face, and he’s seen the chance for her to escape both their ghosts finally beginning to grow ever since she agreed to meet with Blake. His hand cups around his eldest’s shoulder supportively and he waits.

“Mom can’t be there in person, so, I-” she interrupts herself with a shudder, a single tear, “wanted to bring her into the wedding the only way I could.”

“Oh… Oh my sunny little dragon…”

This time, Yang doesn’t complain about the pet name, or squirm away from his embrace. She doesn’t shy away from the tears spilling into her father’s vest, or the painful effort it takes to hold onto him tightly. She doesn’t think about how as she ages he seems to feel smaller, or how he’s begun passing over the harder calls to her; more each month, it seems like. Right now, she needs to believe that he’s invincible.

Taiyang is game to play the part.

\---

Blake is walking barefoot in the sand with her parents, the crunch of her feet echoed by shoes that seem impossibly large. It’s been a quiet hour, enjoying the majesty of a sunset uninhibited by light or air pollution of any kind, not blocked by buildings, water pristine and home to a resplendent variety of aquatic Faunus who help keep it that way.

Ghira’s low, cautious rumble is the first thing to break the gentle noise levels and she’s cold in her stride. Kali puts a hand on his arm, worry clear in her face. Blake refuses to turn around, ears on concerned alert. He mumbles about how he knows that her past with Adam was ugly, that he didn’t treat her well, and tries to apologize. Blake cuts him off, trying to take responsibility for what happened. His hand raises to cut her off in turn, and he says that he bears no less than half the blame as the patriarch who chose to patron him and was blinded by his charisma. 

Kali interjects that talking about the past pains is not what they wanted to bring up. They have always been aware that Blake worries about her fit to help guide Kuo Kuana, and they’ve noticed her struggles with running the workshops, with spotlight attention. Blake tries to emphasize that she’s still passionate about helping their people thrive - on Menagerie and all of Remnant. They rush to embrace her, to assure her that that’s not their concern.

Their concern is the weight of that burden crushing her, suffocating her spirit. They want her to have a chance to bloom into her own self, especially after what happened with Adam where he twisted her compassion into chains. They each take one of her hands, then bring them together into a warm, affectionate stack. They both put their free hand on either one of her cheeks.

“You should move to Patch.”

There’s tears in her eyes immediately, and dread that chokes her throat. Dread, because she’s never wanted to admit that the idea of leaving Menagerie for somewhere else is exactly what she’s dreamed of. Dread, that her acting’s been terrible and the truth’s been painted on her face all along. Ghira’s thumb tucks her curliest lock behind her ear, and she instinctively leans into his large, strong palm.

“You’re always going to have a home here, but, you deserve a chance to chase after whatever rouses your heart.”

Blake wonders what it is that stirs deep in their chest. They know it isn’t here, though, surrounded by ghosts.

\---

Yang isn’t entirely certain why she’s getting nervous jitters; it was all a show for their parents, it’s not like it has the normal kind of weight to it. Nervousness makes the signals to her arm degrade and she hates the way the little twitches and jumps feel. Hates reminders about the way the arm is controlled, like it’s external instead of an integrated part of her. She grabs the mechanical wrist and rubs the points of articulation, a methodical ritual for the worst of times. As she closes her eyes, it takes her back to sitting in Summer’s lap during thunderstorms, doting fingers rubbing little nonsense patterns into her tiny toddler wrists and humming between peels of roaring thunder. The grounding touch on sensitive nerves doesn’t work as well on metal, but the process of making the motions and remembering the warmth of Summer’s arms does the trick anyways.

As she paces a circle into the floor, she mutters lyrics to herself as if she’ll forget everything about a song stuck in her heart. In honest truth, she’s worried that she’ll see Blake and forget that the world exists. Faux relationship or not, she’s not immune to the majesty that Blake represents in this world. She’s still not entirely certain of what Blake’s outfit will be, just that it’s extravagant, white, and they had to talk Ghira out of three more dressing changes than the one they’ve agreed on. Knowing Kali, it’s probably going to be the most elegant thing in the room.

As the start time ticks closer, she frets nonexistent stray threads off her qipao’s wrist cuff. Her father and Kali had made sure both of the “brides” had the best they could collaborate on, and with the Belladonna’s estate, the best was pretty impressive. Yang’s not used to genuine silk, let alone something so richly decorated, and it’s a strange sensation every time she moves. She pauses her pacing to look in the mirror one more time, eyes trailing the gold threads stitched carefully into the striking navy bands on top of red form.

She doesn’t think she would have ever guessed that Blake would be skilled with a needle, but they are someone full of mysteries. Elegantly simple dragons ripple up from waist to shoulder with unbroken chains of vines framing mesmerizing bands made entirely out of triangles with spear heads pointing over the shoulder. The bold vibrancy of the art somehow doesn’t clash with the more enveloping embroidery on the red, bits of bird wings and talons hidden amongst the swirling dance of gold and silver. She lightly runs her fingertips over one of the bands, heat flashing across her cheeks as she recalls Kali’s sly voice when she came to exchange Yang’s sash for Blake’s.

_“She’s awfully fond of you, isn’t she?”_

_“I, uh, I mean, I certainly hope so! We are getting married, aha!”_

_Ruby elbows her in the small of her back, their code for “stop being weird”, and that snaps her out of the awkward babbling loop she is about to continue. She clears her throat while presenting the package of Blake’s shiromuku collar to Kali._

_“I know it’s not a lot, but I’m not particularly artisty with thread. I’m, uh, I didn’t... have a good teacher.”_

_Kali’s eyes soften with that heartaching empathy - Yang’s since learned better than to think of it as pity from the matriarch - and Yang can’t look at her anymore. Kali does raise an eyebrow as she peeks into the folded cloth._

_“Oh, I’m sure it’s wonderf- oh. Oh my. Yang!”_

_The girl in question winces, bracing for chastisement. “That bad?”_

_“No sweetie, this is perfect!”_

_Yang turns tomato red and rubs her neck in embarrassment. She knows that the small plum and hibiscus blooms scattered with the simple turtleshell pattern Kali taught her aren’t much or even very frequent, but they were made in earnest with only a little swearing and bloodshed - kept far away from the pristine white, of course._

_“Thanks, I did what I could. Will you, uhm, will you be getting Blake more design work? It’s just, I mean, I know it’s not a lot, and I want Blake to have everything I can give for this.”_

_Kali lays a delicate hand on Yang’s shoulder, and her smile is the kind of warm that chases away nightmares. For a brief moment, Yang can almost smell cookies that she never quite managed to replicate._

_“You’re more than enough, Yang.” Kali turns away with a wave of the hand that’s still a tingling imprint on her shoulder. Her mother-in-law to be honest to Brothers winks at her. “See you soon.”_

She strokes the head of the dragon on her right, recalling how her father always encouraged her to thank or give with the right hand, hoping for good luck and courage she suddenly can’t feel. She counts the thirteen lien in the red envelope for what must be the hundredth time. She does a quick pitch check for her voice, and then suddenly, a misty eyed Taiyang is at the door. He rubs an eye with his palm and jerks his head towards the hall. His voice comes out watery despite his bravado.

“C’mon Goldilocks, let’s go get her.”

Yang can’t summon anything more than a smile just as wet as his, and she’s grateful for the weight and force of his hand clapping her between the shoulder blades. It knocks all the air out of her body, and the fresh breath seems to finally put her in the zone. She tugs at her ponytail one last time - she made a concession to not wear it down, but refused the damn bun and impractical artistry with ornaments - and gives herself a curt nod; game on. Walking down the short hallway feels surreal, but not half as much as cracking the door open and seeing the Belladonnas. Though, really, she can only see one.

Blake’s curly tresses have been waxed back and gathered in a topknot, wrapped in white silk and fixed in place with what’s obviously a hand carved comb of bamboo. The little she can see of its craftsmanship from the doorway looks like rolling waves, complete with speckled foam. A yellow hibiscus preserved in flawless resin sits nestled behind Blake’s left ear, but it’s the only color Yang can see. The white shiromuku shimmers like precious silver like she remembers, and the masterful threadwork is devastatingly beautiful. Mesmerizing diamonds, feathers, and flowers dance on the silk, spilling down a train that seems like water leisurely rolling down the mountainside. Yang’s touched to see that Kali clearly honored her request and the collar of the kimono is richly adorned; someone’s managed to compliment Yang’s juvenile stitches in a way that still lets it “shine” which pieces Yang detailed.

When Blake locks eyes with Yang, they stiffen then dart their eyes around the room. They force themself to swiftly count the number of petals tossed artfully around the room, the etching in the shell of the turtle made of koa sitting on the center of the table, to actually look at the side by side pictures of a young Kali and Ghira and the same couple touched with age; it looks like it was taken recently, and Blake wonders how they managed a formal photoshoot without alerting them. They swallow hard and fist their hands on top of their thighs, staring a hole down the center of one of the matching sake cups.

She misses the warning breath Yang draws in like she’s never taken a breath in her life, and nearly falls over when she startles at the sudden sound of her about-to-be-”wife” singing. She doesn’t know the words, but can pick up pretty easily it’s a love song - that explains it, then. While the two traded music like kids trade cards, they hadn’t really shared love songs unless they were musically stunning, or comically awful. This one seems pretty tame, considering they’re at their own wedding, but Yang’s all earnest softness the whole time. She hears Ruby give a single sniff across the table from her, while Taiyang can’t sit still as he tries to bodily suppress his huge dad tears. It’s not working, at all; poor guy.

Yang can’t see anything else in the room while she sings, the world blurring into a tunnel of Blake; white and black and delicate woods, nervous hands, shaking eyes. She tries to put as much soothing energy into her voice as she can, knowing that her friend is feeling things she can only imagine let alone comprehend. She wants her tones, if not her words, to feel like soft warm thumbs on Blake’s cheeks, the way that Summer’s were on her own. When she reaches the final passage, she has to fight a fresh wave of grief and she can almost see a signature white cloak at the edge of the room between Ruby and their father. She tells herself that no matter what life might suggest, Summer’s watching. She will never know if Summer would have been the type to approve of the farce, but she likes to believe that her mom would have supported how Yang leads with her heart more than rules that seem more and more arbitrary as time goes by.

If Blake had been surprised when Yang started singing, it pales to the surprise of Yang walking up to kneel directly in front of them. They’re reeling in a slight daze from how good Yang looks in her qipao, in the way that their own needlework seems to accent every angle of her abs and obliques. They become lost in thought as to how a small diamond of skin below the throat manages to seem so lewd, especially given the plunging necklines Yang often wears. Yang’s hand feels scorching as it delicately envelopes around both their own, and the touch finally draws their gaze up into eyes intense and sincere.

“Blake Belladonna, I give you this lien to represent that no matter the time of year, I’ll take care of you. That I will go the extra mile to bring you happiness and wealth in life.”

She can vaguely remember Yang telling her about the lien gift and its meaning before, but she doesn’t remember Yang’s almost overwhelming force of presence when talking about it. Blake has to stare down the truth that Yang absolutely means everything she’s saying, and that sends cold sweat down her spine. What can she even remotely hope to offer in return? What does she want to give Yang in return?

Just as they’re about to try and blunder their way through a reply, Yang unceremoniously drops down on the zufu across from them with an arm stretch that’s more frat boy than ritual and a heavy sigh.

“Now! With that said! Time to day drink and get me a wife!”

Yang’s flashing grin feels dangerous and it dazzles even Ghira, who is coughing in shock from how not formal those words are. Blake nearly begins to giggle, but the miko’s arching eyebrow that quiets her; it can’t stop the tiny tremble of the corner of her lips, though. Despite her irreverence a mere moment before, Yang is all business as she trades cups with Blake. She keeps Blake’s gaze in arrest while they both take the customary three sips to finish the sake. Blake manages not to gag or blanche at the taste, which surprises her and gives her idle thoughts about romantic omens from her favorite books. She pushes the thoughts aside with a vigorous mental shove, tuning back into the now much less stuffy conversations happening all around her. Her ears turn and flick in irritation at all the sudden noise.

“Hey.”

Somehow, Yang’s voice is crisp amongst the din of sound and the heat of her hand is still blazing, but no longer burning to behold. 

“Let’s go get you changed, yeah?”

Blake feels like a deflating balloon with how strong their sigh of relief is, nodding vigorously. Yang’s gentle tug feels like a welcomed beckoning rather than a demand, and Blake can’t figure out what makes this different than a hundred draining pulls before. Maybe it’s the friendship Yang gives her that Adam never did.

Adam.

With the thought of his name the bright red of Yang’s qipao becomes a bloody crimson and the air is hard to breathe; maybe it’s more like their lungs are stone, their heart lead sinking low in their gut. They’d come so close to sharing this kind of thing with him, and barely avoided that bullet. It’s a blessing that their parents intervened when they did, but the guilt of his betrayal of their trust still feels like a ligature around their own neck.

She’s double glad she trusts Yang not to guide her into the woods and murder her, because she knows she couldn’t stop her right now if she wanted to. True to form, Yang bringst her into a ‘bridal’ room that’s had panels moved to make room for two. She barely registers that the clothing rack for her has two outfit bags before Yang starts talking. She just wishes that the words weren’t so fuzzy.

“So, I know we’re supposed to eat dinner with our ‘joined’ family now, but what do you say we make a flash appearance and then go get something greasy before skipping town?”

“What?”

“C’mon Blake, there’s no way you’re looking forward to two hours of dad jokes and waterworks. Ruby can regale you with embarrassing stories at literally any other time. Let’s just get out of here. Ugh, this collar is suffocating.”

“Yang… Why do I have two bags?”

Yang looks up from the chair she’s sitting in, in the loosest sense of the word “sitting”. Her legs aren’t even on the same side of the chair, and one foot rests on the opposite kneecap for a massage during the reprieve from the snug red heels her uniform demands.

“Well. I mean, you could just take a look.”

“Yang…”

Both hands immediately jump up in surrender, abandoning the aching foot. 

“Look! It’s all above board and custom appropriate! I just thought you deserved a chance for some options in your life.”

The word “options” strikes like a rock, but there’s a certain amount of detached numbness settling into her body at this point. She resigns herself to Yang’s lack of a straight answer, unsure how she ever thought she’d be any different, and just opens the bags. In the first bag is a gorgeous uchikake like Blake expects; it’s all vibrant blues and dappled waves, the back splashed with a truly mesmerizing detail of a stingray that threatens to overwhelm her. Vibrant palm fronds float around in a whimsical pattern that reminds her of the ocean breeze that feels like an entire planet away and she’s never longed to run on the sands of Menagerie so badly in her life. A white fan with threads of gold and silver shimmers and winks at her, and she rolls her eyes internally; physical motions still seem out of reach.

When they open the second bag, however, they have to sit down. A crisply pressed haori with five kamon of the Belladonna crest in vivid white waits inside, clearly layered over an equally well made kimono and nagajuban. They can see black and navy striped hakama, complete with obi, and their eyes water. Never in a million years would they expect to have anything like this at their wedding - fake or not.

“.. Why?”

Yang crouches in front of them then, lightly chucking their chin to hold their gaze. It should feel patronizing, Blake thinks, or like a trap. Instead, it feels like a promise of affection, of safety. It’s the thing they respect the most about Yang; no matter who you are to her, she’s a Guardian through and through. They touch one of the spear heads on her shoulder, and feel a little less like a ghost.

“Because I’m marrying you, right? Not Blake Belladonna, chieftess presumed of Kuo Kuana. Not Lady Blake, whatever the -th of her line. You. Blake, my friend. You deserve to be authentically yourself, no matter what that looks like.” She stands and dusts off impeccable silk. “So, options.”

Blake gulps a little and her eyes dart nervously to the bag with the haori, then back to Yang. She tries not to whimper, but as she feels her lip tremble she sees Yang’s brow furrow. Suddenly, Yang’s hands are fists at the end of trembling arms and Blake flinches, sees crimson again. Right, options doesn’t mean she can’t make the wrong choice. How could she forget? She looks mournfully at the haori and starts to put it back on the rack. In tense, breathless regret, she tries to say sorry with her eyes… only to see red greet her instead of lilac. It’s so startling she has to shake her head out, clear her vision, but all she sees is that familiar purple hue now.

“Take the haori and get dressed, then we’re leaving immediately. Straight to grease and then away from any walls at all.”

“Bu-”

“No buts. It’s the one you want, and Ruby’ll cover for us. If we even need it. You know our dads are too busy with their bromance and your mom is just watching them like people watch toddlers play with blocks.”

Blake watches Yang pull silk out of her hair and fingercomb curls free with one hand while digging around in the ridiculous-on-her fancy handbag. A pop from her mouth of satisfaction and the motorcycle keys jingle as she tosses them into the air, only to snatch them at the height of their ascent. Then she rummages in the small closet and there’s two helmets staring at her, in their signature colors. When she looks up, Yang’s all wicked teeth. Her eyes roll over the helmet in a slow daze, and then go still when she notices emblems on the back of them both - the yellow one bears a Belladonna crest, and the purple one has Yang’s flaming heart decal - and suddenly Blake could kiss Yang. It’s not sexual or anything, nothing weird about it; it’s just a natural response to every damn piece of care and consideration best-friend-in-the-world, fake-wifehusband Yang Xiao Long put into every aspect of this. 

“Ready player two?”

The ridiculous juxtaposition of a video game reference amongst all of the ceremony and ritual seems to zap Blake’s personality back into their body. As they begin to swap the heavy white silk for crisp navy, their grin has just a little tooth to it, too.

“Dream on, Xiao Long. You’re utterly player two and you know it.”

“As if!”

“You’re player one in your dreams.”

“I WILL make you sleep on the couch.”

The feel of the flat, dense himo in their hands is a delight they can’t fathom into words; the emotions that flood them are beyond their wildest dreams, of which there had been many. They fix them into place on the inside of the collar and admire their silhouette in the full length mirror on the back wall of the room. They’re all crisp lines and flared form, no fancy waves or body tight curves in sight. The white of the kamon seems to sparkle in their eyes, and the world blurs for a moment before they blink away a hint of tears.

“Yang, we don’t even have a couch yet.” They clasp one hand on to a broad shoulder, resisting the urge to squeeze - but only just. “Now, you owe me the biggest, greasiest thing you can find me.”

“C’mon, Blake, this is your island, shouldn’t you be telling me where to go? Siiiiiiggghhh, I suppose I did just say I’d provide for you, time to pony up.” A wink flashes at them over Yang’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all planned out.”

After Yang squirms into some jeans under her qipao (“Hey, dress for the slide, not the ride!”), they’re able to slip out of the hall completely unnoticed; except for the miku who smirks knowingly and shakes her head with a wave. Blake apologizes silently, but only gets shooed away harder and Yang can barely suppress her cackling. Blake’s in disbelief that they’ll be able to mount Bee in their outfit, and Yang informs them that she finds their lack of faith disturbing. Fond eyerolls are shot in both directions as the engine purrs to life and suddenly Blake’s leaving behind everything they’ve ever known. They pretend that the burning in their eyes is from the wind, even though the faceshield is thick and powerful. 

It’s a slow, quiet creep as Yang guides Bee to one of the only stalls that stays open late along the beach market strip, and Blake squints in suspicion.

“What are we buying? You promised comforting grease.”

“Relax, spouse of mine, I absolutely did and I absolutely will.”

Yang parks Bee away from the window, and when Blake goes to dismount, she motions for her to stop and puts a finger to her lips. The confused cock of Blake’s head is answered by Yang tapping the emblem on the back of her helmet pointedly, as if an eyebrow could convey You’re a Belladonna, you’ll never get peace if you’re seen in public right now. Yang puffs her chest up with pride and struts around the corner to lean on the window.

“Ey! Dilaw! Order for Yang ready for pick up, or did you slack off again?”

A sheepish looking Chameleon with a small striped horn on the tip of his nose straightens up to a truly impressive, lanky height behind the glass. He puts his palms up in a shrug, but there’s tremors at the corner of his lips.

“Gee, I dunno, Xiao Long, seems like you’re utterly forgettable. Are you sure you had an order?”

Yang quirks an eyebrow like someone spinning the wheel on a lighter, sparks briefly flaring from the corner of her eyes even though a smile stretches her face wide.

“Sure as your stand isn’t kindling.”

“Huh. Sure seems like she’s standing, I reckon.”

“Then I guess there’s a truly ridiculously sized order for one under the name Yang, isn’t there?”

Dilaw snorts in derision and pulls a literal bucket out from near his feet, then draws a to-go tote from the shelf near his head. As he pushes them under the glass, he also pushes away Yang’s card.

“You’re not so slick, Xiao Long. I know this isn’t an order for one, and I know who your other party member is. It’s on the house. We all figured out she’d leave the island years ago, but that doesn’t mean we’re ready. Take it, now, and treat her right.”

In an instant, all of Yang’s fierce playfulness melts away and a somber mood falls between them. She swallows hard under the sudden gravity, but places one hand over his as she takes the food, giving a light squeeze and a single nod.

“You got it,” she whispers with a sniff. “But next time I see you, you’re gonna take my charge card - even if I have to feed it to you with my fist.”

“Oh, you’re on Yang, I know how much you can pack away. This is definitely a one time deal. Now, get outta here before the Town Talkers catch sight of you, why don’t’cha?”

Yang waves a peace sign at him as she ducks back to where Blake’s sitting on the back of Bee, ears back and face burning in the early nip of dusk. They startle a little when Yang touches their shoulder, but relax almost immediately at the sight of blonde.

“Hey. You alright?”

“I’m fine. I just, you know.” Blake coughs, ears sinking lower in embarrassment. “When, uh, when uh, when’d you make friends with ‘Dilaw’?”

“Oh, that nerd,” she snorts as she hands off the bucket, but stubbornly refuses to give Blake the tote. “I went to this stand like, every time I visited after that first time. The smell of that broth? How was I supposed to resist that siren song?”

“Careful, Yang.” 

“What??”

“The actual sirens might hear you and get insulted.”

“Th-there’s no such thing as s-sirens, don’t fuck with me, it’s my wedding day.”

A crisp smirk is all that Blake responds with and Yang lets out a loud mock-cry as Bee kicks back to life. With their hands full with a bucket of… something, that smells like heaven and bellyaches, Blake hunches to rest their forehead in between Yang’s shoulderblades. They’re not sure if it’s the beautiful warm colors of the sky, the warmth of their apparent dinner, or the hum of the motorcycle, but they doze off on their way to Yang’s secret place. When Yang shifts to dismount, it’s startling to wake up and realize they’d fallen asleep on a motorcycle. The tiny noises of Yang stretching draws their gaze, and a gentle smile relaxes them. Well, when you trust the driver, it probably helps.

Blake’s finally able to take in the sight of where Yang’s brought them. They’re in one of the only grassy fields along the hills separating Kua Kuano from the harsher desert plains, that’s also one of the highest peaks and a premium vantage point for the sunset. 

“How’d you even know of this place?”

“Your mom.”

“You asked my mom where to take me after you convinced me to run away from our wedding reception?”

“Nope!” Blake wonders if Yang knows that popped p might as well be a signature. “I asked your mom where to take you that would make you smile and would most likely be quiet, and she was happy to oblige.”

Blake’s glad they haven’t taken off their helmet yet as they blink back a hint of a tear. They’ve resolved to not be the first one to tear up today, and they’re not ready to throw in that towel. They watch Yang pull a speaker, a spare battery, her scroll, and a simple dining set for two out of Bee’s saddlebags. They cock their head again, watching Yang lay things out with a quiet hum.

“No blanket?”

“Oh, absolutely not. Grass on my feet or bust.”

“In our good silks?” Blake murmurs, a conflicted mixture of amusement and horror warring in their chest.

“I mean…” Yang pauses, looking down at herself as she kicks off the jeans. “I’m not in white. You?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Oh, a vocabulary test? On my wedding day?”

“You know, it’s my wedding day, too. Surely I can use that to get what I want.”

“You absolutely could, and totally should have. Dad was a piece of cake to deal with this morning.”

Blake rolls their eyes and shakes their head, but doesn’t bother to resist the curl of their lips. They drop without a hint of grace to the ground in the rough circle Yang’s plotted out with her items, finally prying open the bucket of mystery. They can’t stop the soft squeak of emotion that greets them; it’s fresh, steaming saimin noodles and they’re clearly tossed in extra sauce with bonito flakes. They shoot Yang a fond smile, though something’s tight in their chest that they can’t quite name.

Yang’s only reply is to roughly slap them on the shoulder and offer a hand to pull them off the ground. The force leaves them coughing for a moment, and they’re put out for the sudden attack, but they take her hand up anyways.

“Is there some assault tradition you forgot to tell me about?”

“Nope!”

“Then what was that for?!”

Yang slaps her own shoulder that mirrors Blake’s suddenly, and then holds a cluster of lien in front of Blake.

“For the dance!”

Blake laughs because they don’t know what else to do.

“Dance? Excuse me?”

“Ohhhh yeah, better believe it.” Yang stuffs the lien into the fold of Blake’s juban and then busies herself with queuing up some music. “We’re gonna dance, and we’re gonna fight.”

“Fight?! Yang…”

“Yup! One of us is gonna manage to pin more lien on the other, and it will get competitive.” Yang grins broadly, clearly proud of herself. “Don’t try to fake me out, I’ve seen it. You’re super competitive.”

The speaker’s set to gradually get louder instead of blaring right off the bat and it puts them at ease. The song’s familiar - one they sent to Yang, actually - and it puts them at ease. Yang’s not looking expectant, just playful and excited, and it puts them at ease. They wonder if they’ve ever been so at ease while so utterly disarmed and confused… and with a steadying breath, they hold their hand out to Yang.

“Alright then, partner, get over here and explain to me how this works.”

Yang’s quick scamper to take their hand melts their heart a little, and almost makes them forget that Yang was right. They really hate to lose, almost as much as they hate trying to dance.

“Magnets!”

“What?? Make sense, damn it, Xiao Long.”

“Magnets on your shoulder, magnets on the lien, person who pins the most to the other wins.” Yang waits for a good beat in the music before yanking Blake into a step. “No holding back, and no swiping the other person’s lien!”

Blake can’t hear the music over the sound of their laughter and jeers, friendly taunts and sassy affection. They’re not sure how many songs they manage to drag the odd game out, but when they both collapse on the grass, the noodles are still warm and Yang hands them a thermos of their favorite tea. The sky is barely still lit, they’re both grinning, and that’s all that really seems to matter when they look back on their memories of that night.

\---

Blake is surprisingly light-footed as they enter the Xiao Long-Rose family home. Yang idly thinks to herself that it’s almost like the Cat is a ghost; their luggage is minimal, their steps are dainty, and they seem like they’ll take up more space if they take a good deep breath than they currently are. It doesn’t sit right with her, causing a little furrow in her brow and a mild frown to start. Blake notices, but can’t comprehend what they might have done, so hastily looks away and lets some of their hair cover their face. 

Once they’re all inside, Blake doesn’t hide that she’s scanning the house to try and learn anything she can. She lingers longer on scuffs and wear marks, noting where it’s evident that furniture is obviously rotated and rearranged with frequency. She gets it, and whoever spurs the idea she instantly bonds with a little bit more; sometimes, you need a change, and your surroundings are the only thing you have control over, and sometimes it’s just something to keep you busy, so you can’t think too hard. She tightens her grip on the strap over her chest and swallows thickly. It’s not the same, but she smells the unwanted ghost of cologne she tried so hard to scrub out of her life, and it’s not until Yang gently nudges her arm that she comes back to the moment. Of course, it doesn’t help that she also startles and literally leaps to the side like a feral cat. Her ears pin down in embarrassment the same time that Yang’s hands go up in surrender.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“No no, I’M sorry, I kind of zoned out and-”

Both stop, arms falling to their sides and eyebrows arching up towards their hairlines in helpless confusion and borderline amusement, until both are laughing without really understanding why. It’s like a tension wire has tripped, and both can breathe a little bit easier.

“Yeah yeah, newlywed schmoopy goopy, get outta the way! There’s work to be done!”

Ruby is a streak as she muscles the rest of Blake’s luggage up from the basement, much to the newest member of the house’s dismay. As they attempt to object, Yang cuts them off with a knowing smile and a shake of her head.

“Don’t, there’s no use. Ruby’s always excited about moving things, and she’s a real ‘two trips are for the weak’ kinda gal.” She smiles fondly up the staircase that her sister just disappeared up. “Which somehow disappears immediately as soon as it’s time to do chores, conveniently…”

“Hey! I can hear you, you know! Groceries aren’t the same and you know it Yang!”

A good natured snicker sputters behind Yang’s teeth, and Blake makes a note that it’s probably Ruby who is to credit for the living room flipping. She wonders if that will be a good way to try and bond with her. She stops in her tracks again for a moment as she puzzles to herself; is it her place to try and bond with Ruby? It is a sham marriage, after all… She barely nods to herself as she starts up the stairs finally, eyes lingering on family photos on the mantle and in the well. It’s only right to try, it’ll be like a thank you present. She’s precious to Yang, and Yang just got her out from a prison she didn’t know she’d been in. It’s the least she could do.

Once the landing party all makes it to Yang’s, Yang unlocks the door blindly with easy familiarity. Blake’s slightly taken aback by the idea of a bedroom with a lock, blinking rapidly and eyes darting from the key in Yang’s hand to the doorknob. Yang notices the odd look on their face and immediately jolts in place, hand frantically plunging into a pocket somewhere inside that bomber jacket - who knows how many there are…

“Ah! No, don’t worry, just a sec…” There’s a near-panic energy building as she struggles to find the right spot, pulse noticeable in her throat as her worry amps. “I swear I - aHA! Here!”

Yang thrusts a keyring with two keys on it, each one with a silly rubber fob. The brass one has a cartoonish house design on it, obviously meant to be a main house key. The second one has what’s got to be THE tackiest, cheapest, gas station on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, well worn, Mistral-inspired dragon on it; yellow, obviously. They turn it over in their palm, a faint flush to their cheeks, as they thumb at some of the more worn-down edges. 

“I, uh, I wasn’t expecting you to -”

“No no, it’s going to be your place for a while, and I’m not locking you in… or out.” 

The literally fiery conviction takes Blake by surprise, and predatory eyes scan Yang with curiosity... and subconscious relief. She’s never mentioned anything about life with Adam to Yang, didn’t dare so much as speak his name; like if it would summon him back into her life, somehow. Yet, without knowing a thing about the Bull whose name shall not be spoken, Yang is already proving just how big the difference between life with him and life with her would be. Living with him could be summarized in the word ‘confinement’, and so far, her entire time knowing Yang one on one is nothing but one ‘freedom’ after another. She fiddles with one of the silly dragon whiskers idly, before noticing how soft they are and just pockets the key to prevent herself from breaking any of it off, as she reconsiders. Maybe life with Yang could be ‘security’ instead.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

The smile that greets Yang’s gaze is so genuine, it caused a blush chain reaction between the two of them. Yang spins on her heels back to the door, one hand rubbing the back of her neck, as Ruby clears her throat.

“Hellooooo, holding half a life here, more action less flirting.”

“Shut up Rubes, I’m newly wed, I can flirt as much as I want.”

“So you admit that was flirting, and you’re just like, super bad at it.”

“I admit no such thing, now scram.”

Ruby sticks out her tongue as Yang easily scoops the luggage out of Ruby’s possession and walks into her bedroom. Scratch that, their bedroom. She’s done her best to clear as many surfaces as she could before Blake got into town, but still feels an ashamed flush spring up as they get entirely into the room.

“Welcome to uh, home sweet home? I tried to make enough space for you to be comfortable, but, yanno, childhood bedrooms and twenty plus years of stuff and all that… If, if you don’t like anything, I can take it down! Just. Say something! Anything! … Yeah.”

She busies herself with putting the luggage into some of the wider open floor space as Blake takes in what’s left. A cozy full-sized mattress is by a window, a few spots nearby where posters had clearly been until recently. She holds her breath for a moment, thinking of how intrusive this has to be and fearing she’d forced Yang to erase herself from her own family home, and releases it with extreme relief (all the way to the tip of her ears, flicking low as she lets out the gasp of air) as she takes in a few tacky band posters and some for what looked like D grade “horror” movies. She brings a finger up to her lips to try and muffle her giggling as she looks over at Yang with something approaching fondness.

“I don’t know, I think what’s left is pretty great.”

“Ha ha, you don’t have to mock me.”

Yang huffs to herself as Blake walks up to her, lilac eyes scanning the stuffed animal net in the corner over the closet door. A soft touch on her arm brings Yang’s attention to the present and she looks down at the fingers resting on her with soft surprise.

“I’m being honest. ‘It Came From The Weird Pond Across The Way’ actually looks like it’d have me in tears.”

“Oh! I…” Yang lets out a belly laugh, thinking about the costumery in that particular flick. “Yeah, yeah it probably would. We could watch it sometime, after you’re settled in, if you’d like.” She dances one eyebrow daringly. “Be warned though, my dad knows that script by heart and can hear the score from 500 kilometers away. He’ll totally bust in.”

“Oh no, the head of household that I have to live with and whose daughter I totally just fake-married but only we know it’s fake, how dreadful.”

Yang has never heard a less sincere, utter deadpan, not even from Raven, and loses it to the flat look on Blake’s face. She braces herself on one knee and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye with her free hand. 

“You know, sardonic doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’ll have you know I look great no matter what I wear. It’s my flawless skin.”

Blake humphs softly and turns her nose up as she walks away from Yang, but there’s a wink that Yang doesn’t miss. She smiles as she stands up straight again, busying herself with giving a quick run down of the various storage places hiding in plain sight. Blake nods and hums affirmative to the ‘tour’, fully paying attention, until she notices that while yes, there’s a bookcase that she immediately noticed… the bottom two shelves are entirely empty but for the dust spots that reveal it’s a recent change. Yang notices that the replies have stopped and looks over her shoulder nervously. Blake hasn’t moved since she saw the shelves, stock still and slowly blinking, like the loading screen on a scroll struggling to pull up a big video file. Yang gives a sheepish little smile and leans against the side of the bookcase.

“You uh, you really drove home how much you like books and reading, so… I made sure there was space for your favorites in the room. There’s more shelves downstairs around the den and the like, but, everyone deserves to have their favorites within arm’s reach.” She awkwardly flicks a few fingers towards the bed, flush under a window. “Same with moving that to the window. It’s probably one of the best views in the house, and the rains always fall directly on the pane, so it’s like a little, I dunno, reading nest. I keep an electric kettle and tea set up under the bed, so, tea and books whenever you’d like. You’ll just have to get water from the sink across the hall…”

Blake doesn’t say anything, just rushes to Yang’s side and wraps a squeezing hug around one arm. Yang turns to look up at some invisible creature in the corner of the room, shyly avoiding Blake’s eyes and pretending to miss the fact that her new “wife’s” face is hidden entirely in her shoulder.

“It’s perfect, and I don’t know how to respond, so just,… Thank you. Know that it’s perfect, and I have no idea how to return the favor.”

Yang pauses for a moment, not having expected any grand gesture for anything she’d offered Blake, before resting the palm of her hand on the crown of dark tresses.

“You can thank me by letting me know if you like the mattress and sheets, or if we need to make a trip into Vale later.”

“Already trying to get me into bed, Yang Xiao Long? I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

“That’s not what I-!”

Blake laughs, a sound like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, like a perfect Summer’s evening after the grass has been cut and the Sun’s started to set, and Yang stops her sputtering protest. Blake feels more in control as they saunter over to the bed, body language exaggerated for the joke. They’re comfortable, making humor derived from their body. They’re in control in this realm. Anything to redirect people from looking too close at the heart beneath the costume. They let themself down onto the mattress with a great show of care, but instantly the intended sass fades as the bed gives under them. It feels just right, the perfect amount of broken-in from being well used, but not home to a sedentary life, either. They run their fingertips over the linen weave next to the pillows with a smile; it’s cozy, just like everything else has been. Like a storybook they don’t remember reading, despite having read the entire library of Menagerie - twice - by age ten. Including the adult section, embarrassingly enough.

“It’s fine, Yang, really. I’m just worried about how we’re going to fi-”

As if she could read minds - which would just be Blake’s rotten luck - Yang is busying her hands with unfurling a sleeping roll from the closet. It looks luxurious… for a sleeping roll, but is still, unmistakably, a sleeping roll.

“Uh, Yang?”

“Ye-huh?”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.” There’s an authority to her voice, practiced from hours in front of councils and leading development teams.

“Sure am.” The reply does not waiver, just as seasoned by little sisters and stubborn mule residents who think it’s fine to climb onto a roof at 80.

“Why the hell would you sleep on a bedding roll in your own bedroom?”

Yang doesn’t even look up, putting the finishing touches on the creature comforts the roll has to offer… like the pop-out insulated cup holder and a cable threaded through a pouch for charging a scroll.

“Because it’s not my room. Not anymore.” Lilac eyes, serene with the knowledge that this fight was over before it had begun, catch Blake’s glare, and watch resolve melt away on contact. “It’s ours, and your comfort comes first. I have a whole island to disappear into, whenever I want, and you don’t have so much as a map to find me with. Whatever little dignities I can offer, whatever honor I can keep in tact, is yours.” She rises from the floor with a soft ‘hup’ and dusts nothing at all off her knees. “Well, there’s that. Guess it’s time to go downstairs and decide on dinner.” An easy grin splits her face. “Marriage is just asking each other ‘what do you want to eat’ until one of you dies, right?”

Yang doesn’t really wait for Blake to respond before giving a little wave and heading out the door. Blake finally notices that she’s had the blanket on the bed fisted up in both hands and hastily releases it, hands shaking just a little. She’s never felt so thoroughly shut down before, not even from Adam (he never really managed to crush her resolve, just made it easier to give up than to push the issue), and never over something so… sweet? Old-fashioned? She licks dry lips as she tries to think about if she has any heart left in her to protest, and swallows hard when she realizes… no, she doesn’t.

She wonders how many “fights” like this she’s about to lose to Yang Xiao Long… and how the woman got so good at winning in the first place.

\---

Yang gives Blake a few days to settle into Patch before bringing up anything too deep, and it feels comfortable. Like letting a house sink into its foundation after it rains before you judge if the doors need to be rehung. Blake makes the time to spend around Ruby, and once, Yang swears she walks in on the end of the two of them repositioning the couch. A bittersweet smile helps her swallow back a knot while she gently retraces her steps before they notice her presence.

Blake goes with her on about every other or every third call, intimidated villager than any work before them. It charms Yang as much as it pains her, the forced smile looking more like a grimace every time. She frets about how maybe… maybe she’s been wrong this entire time, that Patch is as much a cage for Blake as Menagerie might have been. That they’ve just traded hot sands for afterbirth and fence posts.

When she has trouble finding Blake, though, oddly enough that’s what puts her at ease. Ruby tips her off one day about where they walked off to earlier in the day, and Yang knows immediately in her heart where they’ve got to be. Sure enough, fifteen minutes of mild effort to the South from their porch later, Yang can spot Blake almost invisible amongst thick branches, nose deep in a book. She ponders about how someone who wears mostly black and white can blend in with dark browns and greens so seamlessly, but hopes that the answer might lie in because it’s where they belong. 

She creeps away without interrupting Blake’s reading time, but texts her later that evening that if she really wants a great perch, she should check out a small cove to the East. Blake asks outloud why Yang would bother texting her when they are only a few feet apart, and Yang answers with another text. The disgruntled groan prompts tiny giggling from a burrito twirling away from her, prompting a pillow thrown with a fond grin.

Yang wakes up an hour earlier than even Blake and drafts out a map of surrounding open housing plots. She marks where the best secret spots are, where they might find some other points of interest, and leaves small doodles narrating the surrounding neighbors and a pinch of village history. She rolls it up like a scroll, complete with fancy ribbon, before tearing the ends a little and staining them lightly with some coffee she brews for her father. She leaves it on Blake’s nightstand with a toy treasure chest on top, plus a little note that reads “happy hunting, can’t wait to hear about your adventures.” Then there’s a steeping cup of jasmine tea with a saucer over it next to the map, and Yang heads out for a ride on her bike before work.

As Blake wakes up to the scent of their favorite tea, they’re confused then disoriented; they know it’s been a while since they were in the Belladonna estate. A few extra sniffs tip them off to it being overbrewed, which they know their mother would never allow. To actually see the saucer waiting for them and a literal scroll is almost more terrifying than it is charming. Almost. It tastes too much like being known, being seen; things that were until all too recently unsafe. As they carefully unfurl the note, a strangled laughter dies in their throat. The taste shifts subtly, yet noticeably.

It tastes like freedom and that’s definitely terrifying, a ghostly spectre whose face she’s long forgotten.

Yang’s more or less left the keys to the kingdom for them, and might as well have written “by all means, leave the door unlocked”. They scrunch their nose up at the mental image of Yang in thse sort of ridiculous ahistorical froofy princess dresses so common on the covers of some of their more embarrassing favorites; no, she’s hardly the type. Definitely something far more practical, that she could rip the seams on if she needs to climb a tree or start a fight for honor. The snort that gives them makes them aware how dry their throat feels, so they sip the tea cautiously.

Yuck.

Definitely overbrewed, and a bit lukewarm. A private smile curls on her lips as she thinks it’s about perfect, but… she’s still going to have to teach Yang how to make a cup of tea the right way. 

They don’t visit any of the plot options that day, instead making their way to that cove cave Yang marked out for them. There’s a nostalgic clench in their chest as they look at the sands, so different from the tropical dunes of their homeland. The seabreeze is already so much cooler, borderline chilly, the sands nearly all the same color no matter where they went. Even the familiar white sand is different, a glinting spectacle that whistles and creaks beneath their feet instead of a mesmerizing smoothness. It holds its own charm though, and the beauty is not lost under the fog of the past. They tuck up on a well secluded from seamist rock and watch ships roll in and out, idly guessing what cargo they may bring, what the stories the crew may hold, and utterly fine with being wrong about every one of them.

\---

As Blake walks the familiar circuit through Patch’s town square, recognizing more faces than not and remembering almost as many names, they are struck by the fact that they have a familiar circuit. They remember who owns which business and store, some of the more stand-out stories and families (including which families are feuding), and even remember which jobs they, Yang, or both of them have helped them with. Their lips curl back over their teeth as they mull the thought over; the distinguishing concept that separates Patch from Menagerie is elusive and vague, but the result is tangible. Menagerie is a weighted burden, but Patch feels like a story - an adventure each day waiting for them to write a fresh chapter in. 

She thinks about how she hasn’t had to ‘be’ any specific person since she became part of the village, aside from the occasional teeth-bared polite anger in the fact of ignorance or cruelty disguised in velvet. Here, she’s just been Blake, Yang’s wife, and nothing else. An appearance does not need to be maintained, and the expectation is simply ‘to help if able’ as opposed to ‘to solve’; no additional filters present. 

One of the recently pressurewashed storefront windows glints out of the corner of their eye, and they catch sight of long strands of hair blowing in the late Spring wind. A hand reaches to toy with the curled lock behind their ear, rubbing the threads mindlessly across their thumb. They did just consider how they know nearly every business, and how they don’t have to keep up an appearance anymore - figuratively or literally.

She hadn’t planned for a cut as drastic as the one she walks out with, but more than just her head already feels lighter. As if there’d been a pressure she had been ignorant of, her chest is high and shoulders broad, an inexplicable grin toying at the corners of her mouth as she ruffles the feathered line around her jawline. She knows it isn’t a candle in an inferno if she compares it to Yang’s mane, but the shaggy volume and the way it swirls with any motion she makes delights her.

The thought of Yang reminds them about how this entire thing had been spur of the moment, and the lightness fades. They’re rigid and heavy as iron now, essentially rooting themself to the last step they took. Would Yang be upset about an unannounced change? Would she be mad that they hadn’t asked her opinion or invited her to come along with them? Would… would she stop looking at them when she comes home every day now?

A soft impact into the back of their calf finally breaks their fearful statue imitation, and peeking over their shoulder reveals Mrs. Maple fighting to keep her balance. Her arms are burdened with many bags of supplies and they imagine she can hardly see where she’s going. An amused and fond smile creeps across their face as they speak without trying to smother the humor in their voice at all.

“Well now, hello there Mrs. Maple. Or, I assume it’s you, underneath all that.”

“Ah, Blake, darling, sorry for that, terribly rude of me. I’m just- oh.”

She nearly drops a bag and Blake deftly scoops it into her arms. Then a few more bags, despite the scoff and glower aimed her way.

“I didn’t ask, you know.”

“Hmm, funny,” they reply with a bigger smile, “I didn’t either.”

“Hmph! You really do fit her well, don’t you?” Maple hefts her remaining bags more easily on her hips, arms secure around them. “Well, come along then, I suspect you’re about as likely to be deterred as she is, too. Hah!”

The chat for the short yet slow shuffle to the kitchen doors of Cawl Home is surface level and breezy, comfortable rather than anxiety producing. There’s something that feels almost sacrilegious as Blake enters through the staff door, and that sense of unnerving grows when an empty kitchen greets them rather than the expectable hustle and bustle.

“Where’s everybody? I thought for sure they’d be here since you got supplies all alone…”

“Oh, at least once a month everyone has a week day off; no questions about what they do with it, but parents and those with small hours of overlap with the different services or care providers around really appreciate it, so I try to make it available for them. Today’s just one of those days!”

She begins to create that anticipated hustle and bustle with skills in a well seasoned whirlwind of practice born ease, before whirling back around after a few moments to point a knife at Blake.

“What are you still doing in my kitchen?”

“I uh,... Could I, maybe help?”

She squints at Blake while she leans towards them, and they aren’t sure if she needs to for sight reasons or because she’s looking for something deeper. Blake’s not sure they’re willing to accept being on the receiving end of that search when she finally pops upright with a bright smile.

“Can I leave you alone with a knife?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“Hah! Keep that up, and you’re HIRED!”

Blake is embarrassed by the squeak of alarm as the kindly chef casually slings a chef knife towards them, but they recover in all ways other than the heat on their face quickly. The easy rhythm of dicing, which they follow with peeling and then dicing for potatoes, comes to them with warm nostalgia. They can so clearly picture their mother’s kitchen, and they’re shocked when they realize that … they don’t feel the tug of homesick and longing they’ve been trying to smother for a couple months now.

She’s not superstitious enough to believe that getting her haircut magicked away all the weight in her chest, but she plays with the slowly curling tips for a moment in between rounds of cutting. She takes a moment to think about that tender space, and now there’s towering broadleaves instead of powerful stocky timber valued more for providing sustenance than its figure. The sands are loud and waters comparatively frigid. People talk a lot more, say much less, and trust little… but are reliable and giving. She’s still in a mild daze when Maple harmlessly raps the back of her knuckles.

“I can tell you’ve a lot on your mind, dearie, but this is a kitchen. You can’t be touching your hair or face willynilly, and if you’re going to woolgather, best step away from the knives.”

To Blake’s enjoyment, she remembers vague memories of a grandmother she can’t access on her own rather than drowning under shame. Her face crinkles with fondness and she shakes her head.

“Sorry Mrs. Maple, I’ll be here from now on.”

“Oh, I never doubted that for a minute. Now, hand me those fingerlings once you’re done so I can get them in the slow simmer, post haste!”

The walk back to the Xiao Long-Rose house features the first exhale of shimmering copper and lazy streaks of russet. They’d not intended to be out so long, and feel no surprise that Yang’s beaten them home. The surprise is that they aren’t inclined to shrink into their shoulders as they slide in the front door and slip off their shoes, bracing for both Zwei’s … enthusiastic… greeting and Ruby’s inevitable pounce. They’ve convinced the boisterous and affectionate genius to limit their body contact to a few times a week at max, but sometimes… Memory slips.

Fortunately, Zwei is lazily kicking his legs as Ruby scratches his belly like her life depends on it, and she greets Blake with nothing but a frantically waving arm and a wide smile. Blake finds herself easily grinning back. She may be feeling like she’s still disoriented inside Patch, but for now, the meandering pathways seem to suit her just fine.

“Blaaaaake!!! Did you get a HAIRCUT?”

“I sure hope I did, or else I’m very concerned.”

“Oh ha ha! It looks great, but,” Ruby interrupts herself to whistle low, “what a change!”

Blake’s eyes roam the living space around them slowly, searching for the right piece. Their fingers trail the fraying fibers of the back of the heaviest couch in the room.

“Sometimes… you need to move the sofa.”

“Ah. Say no more.”

Between one heartbeat and another, Ruby’s suddenly nearly nose to nose with her. She would have yelled a few weeks ago - did, in fact, yell and worry the neighbors every time - but now she knows to just wait for the gears to finish turning in Ruby’s mind. She takes the opportunity to continue to marvel how the sisters can look nothing like each other, but exactly like family and mirror so much of the other.

“YeeeeeeeP!”

“YePUH… what?”

“She’s gonna lose it.”

Blake feels the blood leave their face and stomach drop into the basement.

“She’d.. She’d really be mad I got a haircut? That’s, it’s so, I mean that would be very contr-”

“Ruuuuby, did you take my toothbrush again? And, if you did, please tell me JUST for your teeth…”

Yang’s rubbing water off her neck with a fluffy yellow towel, a yawn barely caught with a palm as she blinks to adjust her vision. She’s clearly fresh from a shower and in her cozy clothes, and Blake remembers the instinct to cower finally. What unfolds in front of her is nothing short of a slapstick comedy though, and she’s never hard to deal with one of those before.

Yang notices her, and startles with a frankly overreactive jump. She leans on one of the railings of the stairwell heavily with an elbow, only to slip from the remaining damp patches on her skin. She tries to act like nothing’s wrong as she slams into the wall cheek first.

“H-Hey there Blake!!!” She calls out in a shaky voice, but Blake only watches her avoid eye contact and nibble her lip while she twiddles her fingers. Hardly the embodiment of rage she’s expecting. “How you lookin- Doing! Hah, because, yep, you look like you! I mean, that is-”

“Sis, oh Brothers, it’s a haircut. It’s also not like Blake doesn’t know there’s something different, or like it’s an elephant in the room. Take a deep breath, be a normal girl.”

Yang wordlessly hisses at Ruby as she tries to be ‘cool’ about standing back up, trying once more for the nonchalantly wall lean. She puts her whole back against it instead of putting all her weight in one point, which seems to work out for her. Blake can’t stop the giggle from escaping as they stare at the red splotch blossoming on Yang’s cheek.

“That bad, huh?”

“N-no! Good, great even! It suits you! Uh, not that, you didn’t look good before! I just.” Yang stops stock still for a moment, seemingly becoming aware of the gasping fish effect of her babbling. Her gaze turns tender, and Blake feels warm spread across their face that has nothing to do with the season. “You look comfortable, now. It’s a great fit on you.”

“Yang, that’s. I- “

“You’re welcome.”

Yang turns and quietly saunters back up the stairs, movements contained in a way that suggests she’s trying hard to reclaim some dignity. She tosses a wave over her shoulder before disappearing in her ascent.

“Seriously though, Rubes. Toothbrush.”

“Not my problem!”

“Mmhmm, well, it better not be. I kind of like this one.”

“Of COURSE you do,” Ruby mutters under her breath.

It’s lacking of any venom, full of great fondness if anything, and so soft that Blake’s sure she’s not meant to hear it. It’s always hard for humans unused to Faunus senses to learn what’s actually “quiet” in the new normal. Blake understands Ruby’s insinuation immediately and grabs a lock of hair to tug on, like it would cover the flush on her cheeks any longer. Yang’s most recent toothbrush is part of a set that they’d picked out together after Blake moved in.

“You shouldn’t tease her like that, you know. It’s mean to joke about things like that.”

“That makes it sound like I’m joking.”

The simple, flatout delivery leaves Blake blinking, like an unexpected slap might. They do their own fish impression, eyebrows furrowing as they try to get past the literal meaning of the words and instead unlock the application of them. Ruby tilts her head and raises Blake an amused eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to break Blake’s brave spell for the evening. 

“Okay, well, I’ll be back down for dinner, I’ve got, stuff!, that needs uh, attention, and it’s very… stuff-like stuff, needs a keen, uh, eye. Yeah! See you later, Ruby!”

Blake scurries up the stairs, taking them two a time. The speed means that Ruby’s answer call is a faint muffle, but she has no difficulty picking the words out of the quiet.

“It’s not a crime you enjoy things!!! Tell Yang that, too!”

Blake certainly does not, but it’s not from spite. It’s because they aren’t sure that they can bring themself to fully embrace the hope that Ruby’s right.

\---

When Blake finally concedes to going out to walk potential locations with Yang and her dad, Yang doesn’t have the heart to point out all the hidden nooks and reading hideaways in the area as Blake lights up and an ear twitch that she only assumes means Blake’s going to add it to the map she made her. It’s just too cute, and it feels like a thread tying Blake more to their new home on their own terms, and like _hell_ Yang is going to take that away from them. Her dad and Blake debate the merits of each location with tactical precision, but Yang doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with putting just a little extra push for the plot that has the best access both to everything on Blake’s map… and quite a few more that even Blake’s sharp eye hasn’t noticed - yet. If it so happens to also be in easy access to the main feeder road _and_ to the Xiao Long-Rose plot, well, so be it.

When they’ve finally committed to the place Yang was rooting for (but is relieved that Blake thinks of it as _their_ idea that Yang agrees to) and file a notice of claim for the newspaper, bulletin board downtown, and the CCT notification server, it’s a weird evening. When they settle down in their respective sleeping locations it’s with an air of gravity that Yang doesn’t think either one of them quite expected, even after all this time.

“Hey Yang?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Do you know about how long it took you to remember all the stuff about all the people of Patch? Including all their quirks and who fights with who?”

“Well,” Yang starts with a slight pause to scratch at their cheek with one finger, “not really, I guess. I can’t really think of a time where I _didn’t_ know all that. Probably because I grew up here, grew up helping dad when and where I could if I wasn’t watching Ruby. Why? Nervous?”

“Uh, no, not really. It’s more like, the opposite, really.” The confession is accompanied with Blake squeezing their pillow to their chest and half hiding their face.

“That’s _not_ confusing and backwards at all!” Yang declares in her sunny best, but the sarcastic tilt of her mouth is all too loud to Blake at this point. She’s stopped from her next comment by a faceful of pillow hitting her with pretty impressive force. “Oomphf! Damn, that’s a hell of a throw, Belladonna! Shit!”

“ _Stuff it_ Xiao Long,” they reply with a pout, then surrender with a sigh. “Sorry, it’s just… been on my mind for a while.”

Yang pulls the pillow off her head and puts it in her lap, sitting up and giving them an attention look that makes them think of a golden retriever; unfortunate really, given their predilection against canines.

  
“Sounds like you’re stressed out about getting to know people. How come? I mean, surely you did the same stuff back in Kuo Kuana?”

“I’m trusting you with my terrible secret, ‘wife’, so. Don’t tell anyone.”

Blake turns her head to look out the window, appreciating how the spacing of property and low density means it’s easy to pick out stars even in the early evening. She feels her ears droop and admits to herself she’s been carrying this shame and sadness since she was young, no matter how she fought it.

“I never managed to pull it off, back home. I… things never stuck, no matter how much I drilled myself on the information before I forgot it. Heh, one Summer, I even made myself flash cards and tried to do surprise tests with my mom. She didn’t really take it too serious, though, just thought it was charming. ‘It’ll come, just give yourself time’, she used to say. I used to think of it like growth spurts, or losing a first tooth.” The huff of laugh sounds too bitter, too much surrender, to Yang to register as real coming from Blake. “Heh, I think part of me kept hoping it would happen long after I grew out of fairytales.”

Yang quietly wriggles her way out of burrito of warmth and sits next to Blake. It’s not quite a comfortable silence for a few minutes, but, it’s easy and she’s grateful for that. She pats Blake’s knee once when she finds her words, then rests her palm over the other one.

“I think sometimes there’s things about the Universe that don’t make sense for us, and we don’t know that until we find out what _does_ work. It’s not because we didn’t try hard enough, or any failure on our parts. Round pegs don’t go into square holes - trust me, I tried enough times and made enough builds take way longer than necessary as a kid. Really got on dad’s nerves the fourth through two hundred thirty seventh time.” Blake interrupts her by bumping their shoulders together and a laugh of _brat_ , but Yang just smiles encouragingly and keeps going. “If Patch’s story is coming to you with more easy, I hope that’s just a sign that you’ll find some comfort here. Besides, who’s gonna get _mad_ that you remember their name? ‘Oh no, I can’t socially rub my fake superiority in their face, curses, my plan is foiled.’ As if.”

Yang’s scoff and eye roll sends Blake into a giggle fit, and she’s never felt more grateful for Yang’s ridiculous nature. She shoves her off the foot of the bed with her feet and a begging _alright alright, enough, go to bed, good night already_. It’s light and easy though, rather than the familiar attempt to escape. 

It’s nice, they decide. They’ll take it.

\---

Even with the multiple ways they declare when and where they’re building the house, Blake’s still in shock at the turnout for the _island wide EVENT_ that raising the frame has. They know intuitively that **_literally_ **every resident that is physically capable of participating in physical labor at all is present; even some of the younger kids with decent arm strength are enthusiastically running around the cement foundation Yang poured herself. It’s frightening, almost, seeing that much support for Yang in one concentrated place… and exactly how few Faunus actually live in Patch. They haven’t had an incident since they moved here, but the awareness will never leave their bones, they know.

If Blake’s afraid, then Yang’s distraught. Blake’s appreciative that she can tell it’s from positive emotions, but she still feels at a loss for how to support Yang. Her observation leads to her cracking a joke with an elbow to the ribs to keep her from clamming up at the implication of needing help, but she doesn’t think _looks like you sold out your concert, superstar, hope you actually practiced_ is as funny as Yang’s laugh makes it sound.

As everyone lines up next to the thick cords attached to the frames, Yang gets overcome again. When Taiyang starts to feel that way too, Blake frets that they did something wrong, or they missed a memo about how this whole thing was supposed to go down. Are they going to do something that reflects badly on Yang in front of the whole village now? _Shit_ . It’d been so nice not having _his_ voice speaking, and the world becomes a distant blur of nothing but sky and treetops.

She comes back, anchoring all the way to the dirt beneath her feet, when Yang’s suddenly crushing her in a bearhug stronger than anything they’ve ever shared before. Reality comes into such a clear focus that it’s like she can feel the whole world breathe through her skin. It’s a little distracting honestly, so she _almost_ misses Yang’s mumbled and stuttering _thank yous_. The shaking is what reminds Blake to wrap her arms around Yang back, feeling suddenly protective.

In a blink, a private hug becomes a human chain of each villager putting their hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them, ending with a final hand on Yang’s. It’s an unbroken chain that for some reason doesn’t end in Taiyang, but she notes that he _is_ the second link. Instead, it’s Madame Mallari from the bookstore, whose velvety soft voice is rich and thick with conviction.

“You’re the daughter of _all_ of us, Yang, and we’re here to support you... and your wife.”

Blake feels their gut twist a little bit at the word wife … somehow in both unease about the sham-wedding, but also in heartache. The presentation as each villager takes their own moment to nod respectfully at them drives home their perspective of her as Yang’s partner, her mate, Blake’s identity as part of a pair. It fills them with both dread and relief, and as they feel their ears slowly raise from their pinned back position, the tears staining their work shirt begin to make perfect sense. 

“Hey Yang. If you’re done changing the color of my shirt, we’ve kind of got a house to build and a village that will need to be thanked later.” 

Blake’s not certain if this “joke” will land any easier or better than the first, and she nervously bites her lip as she waits for a response. On instinct, she places her hand on Yang’s free shoulder.

If the thousand watt grin tinted with mischief is any indication, it is perfect for Yang and it suddenly feels like it was what Blake was meant to say. With a sniff she rubs her wet cheek onto Blake’s shoulder dramatically and draws herself up into a power pose. 

“Yeah, you’re right. You make an awful hanky, anyways.” 

“Hey!”

With so many hands, the frame goes up with ease and the joining seems to go by in a blink. As everyone groans and stretchs with loud popping ringing out together in different cadences, Blake watches shoulders rotate and listens to dad joke quality quips complaining about armpit stains. Despite all that, the energy is boisterous and proud, large grins on every face and lots of encouraging claps on the happy couple’s backs. Blake gratefully notices that most of the clapping and enthusiasm is reserved for Yang, but they get a fair share of smiles and sweet eyes. They aren’t sure what to reply with, so they just smile and stare at the back of Yang’s boots when it’s time to go back home.

When did Xiao Long house become home?

When did… Yang’s room become where she belongs?

As they come over the small hill between the two properties, nearly every person starts to cry a little at the sight of folding tables with simple sandwiches, beans, and backyard garden produce. Even Ruby as she stands at the foot of the rise and clearly the one responsible for the display, thus would have been in the know the whole time, is watery eyed. Yang bullrushes her for her sisterly obligation of full contact noogies for the ‘deception’, but the embrace that follows is the most heart rending, genuine touch that Blake’s ever seen… 

That is, until Ruby stands in front of them and gently pulls them in for a matching hug, but seeming tailor made to Blake’s preferences for physical touch. They’re more shocked about how Ruby has apparently picked up on their cues than the fact they’re sharing an actual hug. They gingerly place their hand Ruby’s head and let gravity stroke their fingers through her hair, just once, and they can feel Ruby melt against them slightly.

“I kinda always wanted another ‘sister’. You’ll do.” 

There’s a kind understanding in Ruby’s eyes when she looks up at Blake that undermines any interpretation of the words as anything other than unquestioning affection. It feels too vulnerable suddenly, like Ruby’s aware of too much about her, and for a brief moment she feels a true panic begin to build. She catches sight of Yang before her vision goes again, can just make out her blown eyes and stiff motion of denial and she settles; she trusts Yang immediately at this point, and if she says she didn’t tell Ruby about their pronouns, then… She didn’t. 

Maybe Ruby just… has a sense for these kinds of things. Blake leans back a little bit from her, causing Ruby to start backing off, but Blake holds onto her shoulders the same way the villagers held onto Yang. Blake finds a smile that comes as naturally as breathing and words from somewhere they don’t understand come to mind.

“I definitely wanted a sister, and you’re perfect.”

Suddenly, she’s choking in a high octane hug that Blake would have actually expected from Ruby. Somehow, it’s perfect too as they feel the vicegrip around their neck strangle them, but they can’t imagine a single sound of complaint. They will also never admit enjoying it, just a little, to a single living soul. Even the crowd of witnesses will find nothing but staunch denial.

She glances briefly to Yang, who is now energetically chattering with Billey, the farmer on the East side of town who they just helped birth twin calves. She looks like nothing in the world is weighing her down. Blake hopes that Yang will look like that again and again; it’s a good look on her.

\---

After the frame goes up, the building becomes a house seemingly instantaneously. The house becomes a vessel too fast, like the potential for breathing life inside it is filling the air with a thunderstorm of pressure. Then without any warning, it’s move in day and their meager worldly possessions are already inside. Blake’s head spins as she quietly walks along the interior walks with a touch so light on walls that it seems like she thinks if she pushes too hard, her hand will push right through them. 

Somehow, they aren’t surprised to see Yang leaning on the doorframe to their (their breath catches in their chest again and they feel like a deer caught by headlights on a dark road) shared master bedroom, looking for all the world like she’s got the world in the palm of her hands; her grin is somehow both smug and coy. They _don’t_ expect the pair of keys that drop into their clammy palm, or Yang’s carefully folding her fingers around both of their own. They don’t foresee a shoulder nudge that tilts them to turn their head just enough to see a suspiciously familiar chest as the only thing besides the furniture in the room so far. 

It’s a hope chest that her parents shared, that as she understands it, her grandparents shared. She knows which of the two keys fits that chest without even looking at them, the shape memorized long ago with countless drawings of both key and chest on days when she didn’t feel quite real. When she opens the chest with shaking hands, there’s several items that have been in her mental picture of ‘home’ her entire life; there’s personal items she didn’t bother bringing because moving them with her didn’t think it was practical. When she turns to look at Yang with her mouth alternating between open and shut like a gasping fish, she just wordlessly jerks her head over her shoulder in a distinct ‘follow me’ gesture and walks away from the door frame. 

Blake follows, though they don’t know how because they aren’t convinced there’s any bones in their legs and they can’t imagine how their mind was able to send instructions on how to operate their limbs. Yang stops in front of a door opposite the master bedroom and brings Blake’s hands up again, which become fists clenching to the keys like a lifeline, and taps their fingers lightly. They unfurl them like a flower blooming, and Yang pokes the second key before indicating the door they’re standing next to. Blake’s brow furrows slightly, recalling the room on the floor plan, but it had never had a note on what it was for.

“Your room.”

“My… what?”

“Your room. Just yours. What you want to do inside, do it. Stay inside as much as you want. Only sleep inside it if that’s what feels right. It’s entirely yours to use or not use, when and how you want. There’s only one other key to the door, and it’s stashed with Ruby as an emergency back up.” Yang taps the door with pride. “This baby won’t bust in without professional equipment, so no one - not even me - is going to be able to break it in willynilly.”

For the second time, Blake feels like they could kiss Yang. It’s a crushing feeling this time, like they’d push Yang’s spirit out of her body and into the very wood in the floor around them. They don’t know what story they can come up for about what that feeling is or what it means. They don’t know that they ever will. All they can do is softly wheeze a shaky ‘thank you’, and all Yang offers is another one of those shoulder touches that are starting to seem more and more like something sacred. The flow of Time changes and they can see the dust motes dance impossibly slow in the light in the all-too small-space between their bodies. Suddenly, Time is normal again and Summer heat is stifling, but Blake doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

“Let’s go have one last dinner with dad and Rubes, and go to bed. We can come home tomorrow.” 

Yang jerks her head towards the roof, making it clear that to Yang, this is now where they belong. Where they _both_ belong; a place that she has no intentions of locking Blake away in, doesn’t even expect to share room with her. Blake can’t figure out how to process that, so she nods and braves a shy smile. As they go out the front door together, she offers her pinky to hold as they walk. Yang flushes and raises an eyebrow in askance of if Blake is sure, and she responds with rolling her eyes and linking Yang’s pinky in hers _for_ her. The gravity of the affectionate touch is clearly not lost on Yang, who respectfully acknowledges it in no way whatsoever outside of the pink in her cheeks.

\---

Tambito guitar tunes loud enough to vibrate her headphones soothe Ruby’s agitation as she tries to pretend that the rainstorm swelling outside doesn’t cause her hands to shake while she fiddles idly with a kinetic puzzle. Though she can’t remember there being any rain when her mom passed away, something about when the sky pours without sound and the world goes still cuts deep inside her core. She’s never been brave enough to ask if the ghost of memory of her mom playing a small guitar while balancing both her _and_ Yang on her knee is real; it’s the one fantasy she indulges in these days, and she doesn’t want to give it up to the realm of tooth fairies and gnomes under toadstools.

Yet, despite the blast enveloping her, she can still identify exactly whose heavy boots tromp up the stairwell. She feels herself exhale like a hiss and slowly removes her headphones, turning towards the door.

Sure enough, Yang wordlessly shoulders her door open with enough force for it to bounce off the wall behind it; twice. Her sister is soaked to the bone from head to toe, and she doesn’t even track any mud because the speed of the rain washed Ruby can’t stop her eye roll at the dramatics of it, as well as the lack of knock.

“I could have been naked, you know.”

“I used to change your diapers,” is the thickly mumbled reply.

“It may surprise you to know that things have _changed_ since then.”

Yang pauses in her funeral march then, surveying Ruby with unfocused eyes. She gives a small hum of thought before slumping onto the foot of her bed, pressing her face into her palms. Ruby makes a quiet squeak of disapproval and all she can muster at first is a snort.

“C’mon Rubes, it’s not the end of the world. The dryer works just fine.”

“No, you don’t understand, I had 100 lien riding on this.”

Yang narrows her eyes as her hair ignites in a momentary flash, instantly drying both itself and her shoulders.

“What, _pray tell_ , were you betting on exactly?”

“Oh,” Ruby blinks like it’s obvious. “how long until you realized you were in love with them.”

“Shows what you know, that’s not what happened.”

Ruby doesn’t say a word, only raises a slow eyebrow, and Yang’s heart lurches with a painful pang as she wonders when Ruby somehow learned Summer’s secret weapon. When she learned a face that was simultaneously patient and exasperated, waiting for the victim to be honest with themself so that they’ll stop lying to her.

Yang looks down at her soggy clothes, at the Moon slices in her palms from curling up her nails into them while she held her own face, and leans her forehead on her knuckles. She thinks about black hair that carries the faintest scent of tea and eyes she sometimes catches looking at her from across the room.

“Fuck” she croaks, feeling her spirit and pride break along with the silence.

Ruby hasn’t been a consult for romance, not really, but she knows knows her sister. Careful to avoid the worst of the chilly puddle around her, she scoots up behind her and rubs a circle with her whole palm in the center of Yang’s back - right over her spine. Yang seems to instant relax, taking the first deep breath Ruby’s heard since she came into her bedroom.

“Hmm. Yeah, it definitely seems like you’re screwed.”

“Ruby…” 

“Well, I mean, like, maybe you could be, if you’re lucky.”

“RUBY! _Not_ the time!”

Even though Yang’s face is the color of dusk, there’s no heat in her eyes and the beginning of a smile is on her face. Her shoulders lower and her head droops to her chest still she starts to flex her fingers. Ruby recognizes the stim for what it is; a tactile way for Yang to feel like she’s in control of something, even if it’s just her hands, when she feels like nothing will ever be controlled again.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“But… honestly, _fuck_ , Rubes.” 

It’s said in a scared whisper this time, a sound Ruby can’t recall ever hearing come out of Yang before. It carries both a deep wonderment and a fear of daring to consider it.

“I know, Yang. I know,” Ruby squeezes her shoulder, then throws her arms around her neck, sopping wet front and all, “and all I know besides that is… You’re a good person.”

“I didn’t ask for this to happen.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen! Gods, how fucked would that make me?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to trap them here, to, to take them away from their options of somewhere to go if,” the breath for pause sounds like a warding, “if the… worst… happened.”

“I know, Yang.”

Finally, Yang breaks. She pulls her neck out of Ruby’s gentle grasp and wraps her arms around herself. She’s silent for an eternity, and Ruby just waits. She’s not worse if her sister’s patience helps or hurts more. When she speaks, she can’t hide the watery crack in her voice.

“... I’m not sure that I do.”

Ruby kisses the side of Yang’s head briefly then slaps firmly between her shoulder blades, the hit resounding in the air between them. Yang considers as she nearly coughs up her lungs that growth continues, whether we’re watching or not; including physical strength.

“You’ll know it eventually. Now! Get offa my bed and go take a shower. You smell more like a wet dog than the _literal_ wet dog. Don’t worry about changing, we kept like, three days of your clothes here in case of emergencies.”

Yang’s face screws up in confusion.

“What kind of emergencies?”

“You getting kicked to the couch before you even had a couch.” Ruby shrugs. 

“You two thought we’d have a lover’s spat before we were even lovers?!”

“Uh-huh. I’ve smelled your dirty socks _and_ your nasty morning breath. Oh! I’ve also seen your snoring rattle double paned windows.”

“You’re lucky you’re adorable. It’s like, the perfect anti-murder shield.”

“I know, nature made me too powerful. Now go shower. Seriously. You’re smelly.”

Ruby watches Yang walk out with a half hearted chuckle, that blooms into a short but genuine laugh when Zwei finally finds her. He manages his weird trick of managing to clamber up Yang like she’s a jungle gym, and Ruby can hear her faint _Missed me that much, huh? … Me too, buddy, but don’t tell dad._ Despite her entirely serious wager with Weiss - that she _totally_ won, which she’ll only rub in her face for EVER - Ruby really does believe that her sister hadn’t been trying to entrap Blake at the start. 

She’s not even sure that Yang’s capable of actual deceit, except towards herself.

\---

Yang’s not outside the normal bounds of her late days, but Blake’s worrying nonetheless. They try to convince themself that it’s a non-issue, even though the last time they saw Yang, she was working on something outside right before the sky seemed to rip open. They know it’s not technically a tsunami, but the rate of the downpour seems as fierce as they always assumed the actual thing would be. They do their best to force every bit of muscle tension out of their body and focus appropriately on their book (it’s their long honed secret weapon; moving their eyes in a measured pace across the text, even if they weren’t taking in a single letter… and remembering to check if the book’s upside down; it saved them during many a tribunal gathering) when their ears pick up familiar footfalls, distinct despite a truly viscous mud. 

Yang stares up at her from the mudroom inside a shroud of water falling of her umbrella - well, Ruby’s umbrella judging by the red and black color scheme - and stands there for what feels like an eternity. Her peripheral vision is strong enough they can tell Yang is in new clothes and her curiosity-tinged concern feels suffocating. Her mouth turns to an ashen wasteland, tongue fused to the roof, when she tries to tease her companion and she refuses to meet those lilac eyes for fear of what they could read in her own gaze. 

Yang finds herself continuing to just stare at the sight of Blake; on their couch; wearing a robe she bought for them; a book about Patch folktales in one hand; feet tucked under them instead of on the edge of bolting. 

Oh. _Oh_. 

She swallows so hard she’s sure that Blake probably hears it hit her guts. She doesn’t really say anything as she gets inside, shakes out the umbrella a final time and leans it on the wall before ditching her shoes, too. She gets it suddenly, what Ruby meant by “you will”; there’s no way that she could have any ill intent towards 

Blake when just looking at them relaxing on the couch fills her with such warmth and serenity.

When Yang walks by the armrest of the couch without a word, Blake finds herself trying not to flinch and to remember breathing; while the feeling may remind her of silent fury and a certain promise of future pain, she’s watching blonde curls not violent red… She snaps out of the daze at the feel of Yang’s hand on her shoulder as she leans down towards her ear.

“Last I checked,” she whispers with a playful tone, “you read fast enough that you should've turned the page a couple of times. Especially since it's open to a table of contents.” 

Blake is impressed with their willpower that they don't jump out of their skin at the sudden contact and voice, don't leave contrails of smoke and ash in their wake. It helps that Yang's warmth is like a hearth instead of a forest fire, touch more an anchor than a brand.

"I! You! But I-"

"It's okay," Yang chuckles good naturedly, "I kind of interrupted." She gives Blake's shoulder a gentle double pat before turning to walk towards the master bedroom. "It's nice, by the way."

"What, to interrupt me?" Blake replies in a deadpan snark, eyebrow arching high.

"No. To see you, out and about in the house." Yang's smile turns fond, and Blake feels her heart clench. "It's your home, too."

The word home sticks inside Blake’s ribs like a goathead, uncomfortable and hard to breathe around. It robs them of their voice long after Yang's shadow disappears, not that they had a rebuttal. They wonder if that’s the truth; if the whole building is allowed to be home, or if they’re just renting a corner. Waiting for Yang to find someone she really wants to be with. Or… 

Waiting to see if Yang feels like home instead.

They bury their face in the binding of their book in a useless effort to smother the burning in their cheeks, proud they at least manage to suppress their scream of dismay.

\---

Ruby approaches Blake with the same caution one might approach a rabbit, but she's under no illusion that Blake's more than aware she's coming. She'd know that even without the ears pricked in her direction.

Her "sister in law" is crouching low in the shade of a well seasoned beech tree, and plucking vaguely around the slowly ripening blueberry patch her father keeps for jams and pie stock. Has been doing so for over an hour, in fact, with little to show for it.

"Hey there."

"Hi Ruby."

"Soooo… what's on your mind?"

"What makes you think anything is?" Blake retorts with a bristle Ruby can watch roll down their whole body.

"Because you've been pretending to pluck the exact same weed for like, twenty minutes. I uh, could see it from my window," Ruby admits abashedly.

"You can SEE that far?!" Blake's astonishment overrides her good sense to feel guilty.

"I chose a bedroom on the second floor for a reason," Ruby explains with a self-satisfied smirk before flopping down on the grass next to Blake. "Soooo…"

"I'm… lost."

"Uh, Blake, you're on Patch. Walk like ten minutes in any direction and you end up downtown."

"No, I-" Blake takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the immediate irritation "I know that. That's, not what I mean."

"I know."

Ruby stares up at the sky, watching the clouds roll by with no particular focus. It's like she's scrying the whole world, just then; nothing else exists besides the skies and her. Blake feels the hair on the back of her neck raise, but she waits; something about the moment feels sacred and fragile.

After a moment that stretches for years, yet feels oddly comfortable in Ruby's presence, Blake hears her give a soft hum. They turn to face her and Ruby catches their gaze as she lays her palm delicately over the back of their hand.

"Life has a certain uncanny way of leaving us clueless right when we think we've figured out what we're doing, or where we're going. In those moments, the th **ings** and places - and people, if we're lucky - that make us feel safe become apparent, and matter more than anything." Ruby cocks her head, and the smile beaming at Blake is both blinding and soothing; it doesn't hold any assumptions, doesn't place any shame. "I like to hope that, maybe, you've got a few of those here. On Patch, I mean. That's all that matters, really."

With a small _hup_ Ruby tucks over her knees and pops upright, clasping her hands behind her back and spinning around to face Blake again.

“So, if you’re lost, and you don’t have a specific end in mind… You can’t really be lost, really! Which means you're doing just fine and there's no wrong path anyways. Glad we got that sorted out.”

“How do you know what the next step to take is, then? How do you know how to move forward again?”

"Mmm, I don't think you ever really can _know_. You get to just do… Whatever you want! You just have to choose to do it. The thing you want, I mean. It’s hard, to let yourself go all in for something.” Suddenly Blake feels like Ruby hundreds of years old, and her heart breaks in understanding for how that kind of age happens. “Especially when you’ve been busy doing what had to be done, or are used to doing things for someone else’s sake.” 

She shoots a sidelong look at Blake, and it pierces through every wall they’ve ever pretended they had. 

“It’s okay though, you know? To want things. To let yourself just, have things. For yourself.” In between one heartbeat and another, Ruby’s exuberant youth is in place like it never left. The whiplash leaves them feeling stunned. “So, pick to that one thing, and do it!”

"But I-!"

“No butts! Except my sister’s. Her shorts are way too tight for even me to not notice. I keep meaning to get her leg and glute routine…”

Blake blanches in horror as their ears pin back, teeth clenching with chagrin.

"Ruby! Why! I don't want to talk about Yang's… butt! Even if I did, _why_ would I want to talk about it with her _sister_?”

Ruby shrugs with a nonchalant expression.

“I’unno, I’ve never figured out why people want to talk about butts in the first place, let alone any etiquette rules about it.”

“Anyways… If I’m not.. lost,” the word rules in her mouth heavily, like her tongue is made of lead, “and I don’t have any ideas about something I want for myself… Then what?”

Ruby clearly makes a genuine effort of thinking, a finger on the corner of her mouth and head tilting once more. She also looks surprisingly like Zwei, but it’s more surprising how charming they find that as opposed to filling them with horror

“You could always try kissing my sister. Like, really going for it - full on the mouth!” This time, Ruby does gross herself out. “Always sounds so nasty, but, I’m sure it’d be effective!”

“ _RUBY!_ ”

“What?!”

“I. am. not. talking. to. you. about. things. like. that.” Blake enunciates with a hiss, pushing herself off the ground finally.

“Sooo.. you _have_ thought about it!” Ruby declares as she clasps her hands behind her back again, looking just a little too smug. “Knew it.”

“Ugh, you’re gross, this is gross. None of … this,” they gesture around them, as if the garden patch somehow symbolizes their entire philosophical conundrum, “is about Yang. Why would it be about Yang? Not everything is about Yang! Just because we’re-” they swallow hard “married.”

“You tell yourself that. Anyways, I have a holo-date with Penny, we’re going to see if we can break the record for mechanical force per centimeter in a simple machine. Wanna see?”

“ _No_ , Ruby. I’m going back to the house.”

“Mine, or yours?”

“Ours!”  
“Hah, knew it. Yang’s there even when you _aren’t_ thinking about her! Oh, I’m _so_ rubbing this in Weiss’ face later.”

“Oh, shove off Ruby! Go have with your nuts and bolts!”

“Oh, I will. Good luck with your crush!”

Blake huffs as she pivots away and begins to stomp towards home with more force than strictly necessary.

“I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH!” They wince; nothing says you’ve lost an argument like non-rebuttals.

“AND I DON’T HAVE A LABWIFE!”

Ruby absolutely has a labwife, one that Blake wouldn't be surprised if she became just a normal wife. They walk away in a full blown sulk, jaw jutting out and lips pursed, over the mild hill between the Xiao Long-Rose and Xiao Long-Belladonna houses, hands jammed into deep pockets yet twisting nervously anyways. They can’t _imagine_ why she thought their dilemma involves Yang, in any way. Just because they were “married” doesn’t mean everything they do and feel has something to do with Yang. Not everything is about Yang!

Yang.

Who she can see through the open front door, fussing around the post where she knows the first aid kit is. Yang, who is never home during peak daylight hours, especially since Autumn rolled in like a low fog bank. She can think of like, _eight_ , things with birthing seasons right now and the Widow Johnson needs help gathering her eggs now that it’s gotten colder. Blake suddenly recalls that even Faust down the road had called them earlier in the week for help getting his tractor in shape enough to get into town.

His tractor.

Blake’s heart clenches, thousands of disasters flashing through the mind and each more terrifying than the last. They pull their hands free so they can break into a hard sprint. When they bust through the door frame they’re panting hard with wild eyes, gaze immediately roving over Yang for any hint of danger.

Yang turns at the sudden intrusion and Blake watches the cascade of emotions on her face like a movie. Confusion, then pleasure, then concern, then pleasure again.

“Hey Blake! You okay?”  
“Am **_I_ ** okay? Are _you_ okay? You’re never home at this time of day, and...”

Yang blinks like Blake is speaking an ancient unknown language, then stares dumbly at the first aid kit with the door hanging open and contents shifting as if to fall. She laughs, a slightly awkward one, and uses her metal arm to rub the back of her head. When she sees Blake’s eyes narrow in accusation, she shrinks slightly into her shoulders. She knows immediately what Blake is seeing and can’t see a way out of the situation.

“Well, I was, uh, I was helping Faust with his tractor that he called about, and-”

“And what?” 

Yang swallows thickly, sweat beading on the back of her neck. She can read the heat in Blake’s face clear as day, so the fact that their ears were almost flush with their skull really put the whole memo into overkill territory. Carefully, hesitantly, she pulls her left arm in front of her. The wince happens anyways, and both of them hiss in unison.

“I got a little nick, and-”

“Yang!” Blake nearly shouts, but to Yang it might as well be a foghorn in her face, “that is _not_ a nick!”

“Well, anyways, Faust just has this box of little scrap bandaids - hey actually, could you get me my work pad, he needs a real first aid kit before he really hurts himself, can’t let the old fart die on my watch, heh - and he was going to try to push his tractor to take us into town, but that would’ve just wrecked the whole damn thing and what would’ve been the point of me going over, so I-” Yang feels herself shrink a little more, but can’t stop it, “I walked home for our kit.”

Blake inhales heavily through her nose, stomach churning at the sharp tang in the air from Yang’s arm. Blood is seeping through the flannel overshirt, meaning it’s already penetrated through two layers. She narrows her eyes and her ears begin to move upright, but when she speaks her voice is whisper quiet; a predator’s only warning.

“You walked?”

“Y-yeah..”  
“You walked _two miles_ from Faust’s property, to our door.”

“Well, I mean-!” Yang flounders, and she knows she’s floundering. She tries to look away in shame, but naturally moves her arm with her and can’t stop the gasp from escaping. “I, I have perfectly good legs, and it’s not _that_ bad a walk. It’s, it’s even _nice_ outside!”

Yang can’t continue her inane babbling because suddenly Blake is inches from her face, looking like they’re about to snarl. Her pulse skyrockets from the nerves of someone who knows they’re in trouble to the rush every teenage girl with a crush knows. There’s ash and sand in her mouth and she can’t pull any moisture to wet her tongue to talk her spouse down from their anger. As she opens her mouth anyways, instincts to dig her heels in stronger than her good sense, Blake cuts her off.

“Don’t do this.”

She hisses it like a parent trying to wrangle a cranky child in a quiet space. She almost feels a little guilty at the saucer sized puppy eyes Yang gets, but she can’t let herself cave. She pushes Yang’s hands out of her way and begins to carefully peel - gods, she can’t even push it, it’s _soaked_ \- the sleeve back and out of her way. Alarms blare in her mind and she’s not sure how the panic she feels isn’t making her hands shake, let alone how her voice could possibly be steady.

“Do what?”

Yang’s voice is soft and prone, and it stabs them in the gut. They can’t back down now, so they reach into the kit and fish out the medical pads without even having to look. Their eyes are trained on the two inch wide curved wound wrapping around the curve of Yang’s bicep. They thank whatever watches over their wife that it’s not a deep wound, most of the flow coming from its width and lack of uniform edges.

“Don’t try to carry an island all on your own.”  
“I don’t know w-”

“You DO!”

Blake regrets shouting as soon as she does it, and turns her face away again. She recognizes the fear in Yang’s face with shame and closes her eyes. She takes a beat, two, five, to pull her panic from her throat. When she looks back at Yang, she knows it's with her most intimidating gaze she can muster; the kind that’s defeated more than one rotten politician.

“You try to do it all, everywhere. You can’t keep doing that!” Their jaw juts forward in defiance, a little bit of a growl edging into their voice. “I won’t let you. This is my village too, you know.”

Yang’s throat bobs, but no sound comes out. She looks stricken, but not afraid and that’s all Blake needs. Lifting the pads up to see if the bleeding has reached a staunch stage, she sighs.

“It’s going to be painful for a moment. Please excuse me.”

Yang gives a numb nod, still trying to process what Blake’s words mean. They hadn’t said much, but she knows that there’s chapters being written right in front of her if she would just _look_. Blake’s never spoken about being particularly attached to Patch before, but Yang can’t tell if that’s what’s going on. She’s come home with cuts and bruises, even the occasional sprain, dozens if not hundreds of times. She doesn’t understand; she’s not sure if she needs to, either. 

Blake’s grateful that Yang’s bracing herself on the wall and keeping still, a model patient. It’s been a while since they’ve patched someone else up, and they can’t stomach the idea of hurting Yang _more_. They know they have to though, and they begin to clean the area before dressing it. To Yang’s credit, only the occasional yelp and minor flinches disturb their work, and each time they look over with genuine apology to check on her. Yang looks dazed to them, but they figure she’s probably just feeling a little disoriented.

  
As the coban is tied off, Yang thinks she finally sees Blake breathe for the first time since getting up in her face. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

“Uh, you probably shouldn’t use that arm for much for the rest of the day. So… Just. Don’t do _that_ again,” Blake mumbles, a vague flick of a finger towards her injury. “That, I mean. Just, let someone help you. Anyone.”

“Blake, I-”

Blake rushes back into her space again, and briefly kisses her cheek. The scent of white tea lingers even after the warmth pulls away, and Yang’s not sure she’s still awake anymore. How much blood did one have to lose before fainting was a risk? Maybe the wrap was too tight? Also, why did Blake smell like white tea when she drinks jasmine?

Before Yang can find her voice to ask for a reality check, Blake’s vanishing into thin wisps and footsteps retreat towards their private room. 

“Y-yeah… Your village, too, I guess..”

Without thinking about it, she reaches up to touch the kissed skin that’s still electrified. She can’t stop the loud hiss of pain, worse now with pressure on the wound.

“You shouldn’t use that arm for anything, I TOLD you!”

Despite knowing Blake can’t see her, Yang winces and hangs her head in apology. The corner of her lips quirk up just a little bit as she replies earnestly.

“Yes dear.”

She can’t know if Blake heard her (if she had to guess though, they did), but after that it feels like the energy of the house is settling into place. It’s comfortable and the air isn’t so charged. Plus, she’s relieved to not feel Blake’s breath on her neck any longer. A shiver passes through her head to toe, and she spins on her heel.

“Work pad, right.”

\---

Yang isn’t sure how she manages to complete her work for the rest of the day. She doesn’t really remember what she cooks them for dinner, or anything either one of them says. She hopes that means that nothing important was said, because all she’s been able to remember is the warm feeling of silk soft lips right where she knows the densest freckle cluster on her left cheek is. Somehow, she’s put herself to bed, but she’s too wired to sleep and too unfocused for coherent thought. She knows she must have showered because her hair is at maximum flair, and yet the tickle remains as strong as it was - she checks her scroll - eight hours ago.

She snaps upright with sudden inspiration, thinking of the one person who has never let her down when she needs a soundboard or a burst of rapid fire information.

_AAAAA_ _  
_ _RUBES_

_RUBY_

_RUBBLES_

_RUUUUUUUUBY_

_… yang it’s 3am._ What

_Blake. Kissed. Me._

_Omg was it full on, like on the mouth? Wait, why am I asking, oh gods I imagined it, oh gods, ewewewewew, it’s so gross, why do I care where it was, omg_

_OMG no you fucking ass it wasn’t- why would yo- ANYWAYS no it was on my cheek and it was really soft and they smell like white tea leaves and amber and I don’t??? Know what the kiss means???_

_well gee yang it almost might maybe mean your wife_ likes _you_

 _But like???_ How _do they like me???_

_Yang_

_What???_

_I’m too sleepy for that conversation_

_Ruby, wait!_

_i’m turning off my scroll now_

_bye sis_

_nope stop typing_

_i see you typing_

_good night yang_

_yang_

_go to sleep_

If she wasn’t worried about waking up Blake, Yang would’ve screamed in frustration. Instead, she gently puts her scroll face down on the nightside on her side of the “couple’s” bed, hoping to avoid temptation. She allows herself a few disgruntled growls, then a silent yell as she covers her eyes with her palms. She doesn’t even try to pretend like she’s likely to sleep anymore, kicking off the covers aggressively before more or less leaping out of bed. She climbs up onto the bench she had made for a window seat, imagining Blake reading in the Sun, and stares without aim at the sky. 

She stares and stares, as the inky black night fades into powerful colors; passionate and tender hues of purple and orange, blending gracefully while still retaining their own space. She stares more attentively then, though her eyes are still far cast and her mind elsewhere. She wonders if she’ll be able to achieve such a delicate thing in her own life.

\---

The next day is awkward breakfast, and it doesn't end up going well. They end up calling in an order at Cawl Home and going to pick it up. Mrs. Maple gives them the meal for free because she's so grateful for this time that Blake did something that helped her out soooo much. Yang is breathless with how much love she feels. When they get back to the car, she tries to awkwardly ask, touched. Blake misinterprets and gets scared, asks if Yang is mad. Yang is so confused but also mortified that that's the association Blake has, but then she's Soft and now it's Blake's turn to know how DOOMED she is. Yang ends up gaypanic leaving, leaving Blake alone with Yang's stickshift truck. Blake talks to herself and realizes that she's happy in Patch... and happy with Yang.

When Yang does the walk of shame to go get the truck, a villager talks her off the panic attack she nearly has when the truck is gone. Lets her know that Blake drove it home - shocking Yang that Blake bothered to learn how to drive stick. When she escapes the chatty villager, she finds that sure enough the truck is home safe and sound... and washed???? When she gets inside, Blake is asleep in her fav reading spot, and her heart just stops.

Yang gay panics and texts Weiss for advice. Weiss ain't got time for this.

She texts Nora, and that's a disaster.

After Yang got home, Blake woke up and has started texting Ilia and they mutually useless sapphic it up together. Ilia comments about how at least Yang's got a nice ass before they stop, and Blake mutters to herself in agreement when she's alone again.

May or may not be a small scene or two about Blake awkwardly and without success trying to flirt with Yang on purpose and maybe an almost suggested kiss or two. Yang will be talking with Ruby about how to set up the final scene, which is what follows here)

\---

Yang is drumming her fingertips on the island, like the rhythm of anxiety will inspire genius. She trusts Ruby that whatever she managed to concoct to occupy Blake with will last long enough, and probably won’t involve anything catching on fire. She does not trust that she’ll be able to figure her way out of the hole she’s made for herself.

Step one, get Blake out of the house. Step two, make Blake a nice meal that’s emotionally significant to express gratitude for the companionship and contributions to Patch. Step three, somehow manage to ask Blake on a date.

The problem was, Yang suddenly has forgotten every single thing she’s ever known about cooking and anything she ever learned about Blake’s tastes in food, other than… tuna. Which is an entire broad species of fish, not a specific dish, and something that despite being an island villager she’s never shopped for a day in her life (she’d always been partial to salmon, it’s not her fault). Somehow, they’ve gone over a year without ever having tuna for dinner. 

That’s it. Blake must think she hates her, that’s the reason. If she didn’t hate her, obviously, obviously they would have had tuna by now. She throws herself down onto the island with a groan, wrapping her arms around her eyes. 

“I’m like, the worst husband,” she cries to an empty house.

“I dunno kiddo, I probably could’ve given you a run for your money back in the day.”

Yang snaps back up in shock, both because she can’t believe she’s been so bummed out that someone managed to sneak up on her in her own house and because the owner of that particular voice shouldn’t possibly be in front of her. Posing like a prince in shining armor from a kid’s movie, there’s her dad, standing in the kitchen entryway holding a butcher’s bag with a full-sized tuna over his shoulder. She sputters more than she speaks, arms gesticulating wildly.

“Yeah yeah, how did I know, when I did get back, etcetera etcetera,” Tai says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You aren’t the only one with a scroll and Ruby’s number, yanno.” It’s with a wet slapping sound that he unceremoniously drops the fish onto the counter. “Anyways, it’s lucky for you that your dad just so happens to captain the trade and supply runs, and happens to know exactly what to look for in any fish.”

That she’s lucky that he loves her doesn’t get said, but she can feel it in her bones just as sure as she knows he can feel that she loves him back. Just like she can’t stop the smile that stretches across her face even as she rolls her eyes. Taiyang gives her his best signature finger guns, prompting her traditional double facepalm groan. In the time that her face is covered, he slips around the side of the counter and pulls out her best chef knife.

“Now, let your old man show you the right way to gut a fish! The trick is-”

“Dad!!!”

“What? It’s easy! You wanna start behind the gills, right h-”

“Dad! Gross!”

“What? No! It’s fine!”

“Get out of my house!”

“Ach!” Taiyang puts a hand over his heart and the other to his forehead, a single tear on his cheek. “You’re kicking out the hero of the story?! Before the triumphant climax?!”

“Old man, this is my house, and I can finally say it; my house, my rules! Get ooooOoOOooOOout!”

“Oh, oh ouch, oh I should have known that would come back to haunt me some day.”

“Yeah,” Yang says, but her voice is full of tenderness, “you really should have. Now, go, skedaddle! Go… go make something in your woodworking shop, old man.”

“Oh! Oh, my own daughter! Pft. Old.” He sniffs. “Well, alright kiddo,” his whisper is almost more to himself, thoughts of what feels like a lifetime ago filling him with nostalgia, “good luck with the girl.”

Yang stops in the middle of her fake attempts to shove her dad out of the house, shock spelled across her face. Taiyang winks and salutes off the side of his head, walking under his own power the rest of the way out. She stares at him through the stylized window she customized with Blake and wonders how much he knows, when he started knowing, if he’s known all along. She swallows down the knot in her throat and finds it sits just as badly in her chest. She grabs her metal bicep and squeezes it tightly, grateful for the stability that steel offers.

As she walks back into the kitchen she tells herself that old joke about how she’s just checking the heels of her palms for holes rather than crying. There’s no time for crying; she is Yang Xiao Long and she is on a mission. Only now she’s on a mission, and there’s a massive fully intact fish face staring up at her. The two of them share that horrid, awkward moment before she groans and covers it up with the butcher paper.

“Okay Xiao Long, think, think. Use that big beautiful brain you used to make the boys cry with,” she half grumbles half prays, seeking guidance from the glints and glimmer in the marble slab.

Yang knows she’s not stupid, has proved it since day one and never had to try that hard again, but the process of “how to ask your own wife on a date” makes her feel stupid. She doesn’t understand why she can’t just use her words like a normal, well-adjusted adult, but it’s too raw, too vulnerable, even after all this time. It feels too unsafe for both of them; the power dynamics from Blake’s position have woken her up from many a restless sleep lately, and is responsible for the sore she’s wearing in her lip. She stops chewing it with a sigh, then slumps down to lay face down next to the fish carcass stinking up her kitchen. 

It doesn’t seem possible to know so much about a person - favorite color, favorite author, the exact amount of time their usual tea of the day takes to steep AND the time for their comfort tea on bad nights, the way their nose scrunches when they don’t want to admit they thought something was funny, the time down to the minute until they’ll rearrange the furniture, the way they organize their bookshelves, their favorite season, their breakfast order at Cawl Home, their dinner order at Cawl Home - yet she doesn’t know this. 

She continues to lay there, eyes unfocusing while staring into the distance at nothing in particular for what feels like hours. Her mind is convinced that, somehow, the tuna will flop as if still partially trapped in death throes. The unease this instills in her leaves the hair on the back of her neck pricking like a threat, and she considers the possibility that it’s the only thing keeping her in her body at all at this point. Which she is grateful for as a thousand watt light of clarity flashes in her mind, because if she’d been resting on her palm instead she would have slammed face first into the marble top.

Her hand trembles as she frantically digs in all her pockets (why does she have so many pockets???) for her scroll, and is still doing so as she holds it in front of her like a lifeline out of a desperate survival setting. She tries to still her heartbeat while she barely manages to pull up her contacts and find Kali Belladona (MIL <3)(ICE), spewing artistically rendering curses like prayers at both the difficulty of the action and that it’s taken her this long to consider the option. Her thumb falters just over the glass, as if committing to the call will create a world she can’t take back. Isn’t this what moms are for? she wonders to herself, repeating the mantra that it’s fine when she answers back; how would I know?

“Fuck it.” 

With that breathy oath, she slams the button unnecessarily hard and places scroll to ear. She can hear the ocean from the rush of her pulse in her ear, and she grips the counter to still herself. Her heel begins to bounce instead.

Hello darling! It’s rare to get a call from you! As delightful as seeing your face is, is everything alright? 

“H-hi missus Belladonna. Ma’am.” The band in her throat as she swallows feels like dying, choking.

Oh dear, you must be upset if we’re back to that old habit. What’s wrong? The voice of gentle concern and wisdom takes on a mischievous curl that reminds her too much of her spouse. Marital troubles?

“What? No! Oh, grapes, I!” A heavy, steadying breath. “Well, maybe you could think of it like that. I wanted to cook for Blake.” A whine dies in her throat. “That is! I do that anyways, we uh, we take turns even!!! I mean that, I wanted to cook something… special. A favorite, you know, something that really feels close to the heart. I know she really likes tuna, but I can’t figure out what to make with it.”

Why, Yang! That’s terribly sweet of you. A pause, just long enough to notice the bead of sweat sliding down her lower spine. She shivers, feeling suddenly under interrogation despite being what feels like halfway across the world from Kali. What’s inspired this, now? It’s not an anniversary of something that I know of… You’ve always been so loving to Blake - she winces - anyways, and been generous with your doting… Are you in trouble with her?

She can physically feel the eyebrow that is absolutely raised, the drilling stare pointed squarely at her chin from below. Despite the lack of video connection, she fiercely shakes her head, sending blonde curls whipping at her face haphazardly.

“No ma’am! I just,” and now it’s her turn to pause; what is she just, exactly? Even if she were going to tell her mother-in-law -- and she’s not -- that she wants to ask her own spouse if they want to be romantic with her, how would she explain herself? “I want to show her… how much I appreciate her, what she does for our village. Yanno, that she’s.. She’s important.”

Yang feels the “she’s important to me” die in her mouth, ashy and frozen with the gravity of it. There’s a short yet crushing pause, but Yang knows that if Kali’s taking the time to compose herself, she damn well better wait and listen. She can hear the water in Kali’s voice when she does speak.

That’s so moving, Yang. I’m sure she’s got to be feeling at least a little homesick, and I can’t think of a better way to mix the two for her. I’m sending a recipe over now, it’s her absolute favorite, and there’s a few spare if you aren’t familiar with the technique or can’t get an ingredient for some reason. There’s a quiet sniff as she uses the natural pause to recompose herself. You know, we’re just so grateful you’re taking care of our Blake, that you see her for how special she is. We’ve always wanted her to be with someone who would treasure her like she deserves, and, well. A bitter and sharp edge Yang wouldn’t have thought possible for her ‘mother-in-law’ creeps in and sends shivers down her spine. Yang has to remind herself to breathe. It just, hasn’t been easy for her, and what parent doesn’t want a comfortable road for their child?

Her palm starts to sweat around her scroll the longer the conversation goes on, and she has to change hands just to keep her grip. The slight tone that feels like “thanks for taking care of our weirdo kid”, the reminder of her own parent that never seemed to give a damn what happened, it’s starting to get to be too much. She imagines this is what claustrophobia feels like, or how wild animals in corners facing down their demise.

A pleasant electronic chirp breaks the moment before Yang can work words around her heavy tongue.

Oh! There’s that recipe. You really do have such a nice connection there in Patch, it’s such a relief for long distance worrywarts like Ghira. The obvious love and warmth in Kali’s voice soothes her fight instinct and air feels real again. He gets so antsy about her if he doesn’t see her every so often.

“I can only imagine, ma’am.” The immediate ‘tch’ sets Yang’s spine straight. “I mean, it can’t compare to a parent’s love, naturally, but I care for her too, Kali. She’s… She’s worth the worry, that’s for sure.” Blinking back sudden tears, she rubs the tip of her nose. “Thank you, by the way. For the help, and the recipe. It’s nice. To have a mom around that I can ask for help.”

Kali lets out a squeak and Yang can picture her bringing her dainty hand to her mouth so clearly. It makes it harder not to cry, and she grips the counter to keep the world from spinning. As if sensing her distress with some sort of psychic mom sense, Kali immediately rushes into the connection with a burst of energy.

Yang, dear, you call me about anything, and I do mean anything!!! You’re family now, and we’re all in this together, no matter how far about we are. A sly tone creeps in, and Yang’s immediately suspicious. I do many anything, by the way. So whenever you and Blake are ready to discuss children…

“I! Uh! That is! That, uh, that’s not!”

Truly, though! I’d love to see some little grandbabies any day now. You’re both of the age where women are at their feistiest, after all!

“I uhm, that’s, I’m sure you’re right, ha ha, but we’re not-”

Oh come now, darling, I’m not naive. It’s just not reasonable to expect anything else, especially this far into the game. Not need to pretend! Though don’t tell Ghira, of course. He may have always said ‘not until after marriage’ but I don’t think he ever considered what would happen when she finally did get married.

“That’s, hah, that’s funny, ma’am. Kali! Mom! Ma’am! I uhm, I have got to go now, though, uh, lots of cooking to do!!!”

Oh of course, of course. But really! Think about it! Gran-

“Thank you, okay bye!”

Yang can hear the cackle from a distance as she scrambles to hang up as quickly as possible. She nearly drops her scroll on the tile and settles for laying it facedown on the counter. The adrenaline finally settles down and she lets herself fall to her knees on the floor for a few beats to catch her breath. As mortifying as that was - she was utterly unprepared for an extended conversation exclusively using she/her for Blake, on top of the rest - she can’t deny that the thought has some appeal. Imagining them standing on their porch smiling at each other, holding a little carpetcrawler on her hip, fills her heart with a light she didn’t think possible… that’s followed immediately by awful dread and flashes of worn tattered pictures of Raven stained with too many tears to count. 

To stave off the panic and the implications of what it means to literally envision yourself with children with your spouse who you haven’t so much as open-mouth kissed, she launches herself onto her feet by pulling hard on the countertop. She knew real marble countertops were worth the extra investment for a reason and a sense of gloating fills her as she hears her metal thumb scritch on the surface. Taking a deep breath for nerves, she flips over her scroll to pull up the recipe. Kali’s name sits center frame with a simple Think about ;) And call me any time! <3 ! and she barely suppresses the nausea that creeps up on her. Too much, she thinks, let’s just focus on butchering a huge stinky fish.

Fortunately for her, the tuna her father brought them is more than enough for the recipe and then some, and Yang decides to go ahead and prep some lightly seared steaks with the instructions Kali sent, too. She didn’t quite trust the surprise fish for true sashimi, but well, situations like these are exactly why she just keeps a blow torch on hand. She stands by her argument that everyone should keep one on hand, because “you never know”. With the steak slabs sitting in front of her, she briefly wonders if too much of a good thing will be overwhelming, but recalls Blake’s face the first time she said Patch’s Library didn’t have a loan limit; as well as the subsequent face they made when the Library had to institute after the first time they patroned. With a smile curling her lips, Yang sets herself to task prepping for the true goal.

She hadn’t thought that preparing a simple nugget fry would take up so much time, but she’s only just setting them to fry when Ruby’s custom text tone rings out sharply and startles her so badly a few sparks leap off her shoulder. Haphazardly juggling the basket that she almost fumbles, she manages to get her elbow to tap the screen and pop up Ruby’s warning that they’re about to head back from the far side of town. Blake’s driving and they’re taking the scenic route, so she thinks they’ll be about thirty five minutes. Yang silently screams, mimicking the tea kettle flawlessly as she carefully drops the fry basket down and hustles to finish off the sides. 

She pauses to voice-to-text Ruby telling her how much she’s the best and she owes her like, two, of her favorite milkshakes - with extra whip and two cherries on top. Ruby replies with a screenshot of the promise, and continues sending her five minute updates on their location. Yang’s not sure if it is helping her, or driving her to panic. She chooses to focus on funneling the frantic energy into cooking, and feels barely ready when it’s ten minutes until arrival and she just barely finishes torching the steaks to a perfect medium. Five minutes later every surface is clean, except Yang herself, and she’s left with just the deafening sound of her own heart in her ears.

She nearly vaults herself to the door as Blake’s key slides into the doorknob - and she knows it’s Blake, knows the difference in the sound of their keys compared to Ruby’s. Blake’s low murmur reserved just for people she’s comfortable around is lightheartedly teasing Ruby for her seemingly boundless energy and how hard she has to focus to follow her blazing train of thought. Yang’s heart seizes at the easy, lopsided smile resting on her face, and she fights down the freezing to inhale heavily. The sound clearly hits Blake’s ears, and Yang clumsily tries to lean on the entryway between landing and kitchen like she’s been doing anything else but pace since Ruby’s last update. Ruby shoots her sister a double fingergun and a mouthed ‘good luck’ before backing out of the house casually for the short hike back to the Xiao Long-Rose property. Blake does a double take to try and ask Ruby where she’s going as she hears the door start to close, when the scent of familiar spices and meat fills their senses.

“Yang…?” 

Blake’s voice is all caution and confusion, and for a brief moment Yang feels like she’s the mistake of a lifetime. She’s about to prepare herself to move towns and change her name when Blake finally makes eye contact. It’s something Yang can’t name, but she wants to believe there’s hope, excitement, and maybe a little bit of an opening up in that gaze.

“I’m hoping that I smell what I think I smell, or else you’re sleeping on the couch. Just so you kn- oh.”

Blake’s footsteps stop with their voice as they pass Yang in the archway, and Yang forces herself to stand up finally. Yellow eyes dart back and forth from the single plated dinner and Yang’s face, throat bobbing but mouth unmoving. Yang tries to will Blake to hear her mind as she repeats I made this for you, I like you, please like this, please like me back. However, she reminds herself she’s trying to be a big girl these days and she clears her voice softly.

“I wanted to make something special, for you, I mean.” Yang walks back to stand in front of the dinner opposite the stool pulled up for Blake, and lets a hand gently drag off their shoulder when she walks by. 

Blake strides over to the island, lips tucking to her teeth and eyebrow twitching mid-forehead, and she tries to confidently swagger to the throne of honor, but her heart isn’t in it. Instead, it’s opening, bleeding, closing, and blooming again on repeat. The amount of forethought in not just the meal, but in the now-obvious ploy to keep her out of the house while Yang made magic happen is breaking her apart with bittersweet implication. Her hands tremble slightly on her thighs as she sits in the blatant spotlight, and it’s hard to believe what’s happening despite the steaming food right in front of her. She swallows once, twice, and then looks up at Yang’s fragile face. She settles into a warm and amused smile, one finger reaching out and swiping down Yang’s nose. 

Yang’s not sure if batter has been wiped onto or off her face, but at the touch she seems to remember what breathing is.

“You’re cute.”

“I’m… Excuse me?”

“I said you’re cute, Xiao Long.”

“Ye-..a-...h. I got that part, but I’m not sure of the connotations… Like, puppies are cute, but like..” 

Yang reaches one hand behind her head and idly threads through thick locks for lack of a more grounding activity. She bites her lower lip and drops her chin, uncertain if she’s looking at success in the goal of ‘let the food speak my affection for me’ or not. Her eyes slowly work up to see what Blake’s doing, unable to merely wait for the selectively wordy individual to speak. 

Blake grabs one of the nuggets and tosses it into their mouth with an easy shrug, not expecting much… Until a spice that’s uncommon in most fish fries around Patch washes their palette and they know for sure now. Yang had to have asked their mother for this recipe, to have gotten this dish with this specific spice. Tears spring forth immediately and they look up at Yang with their whole bruised, stitched, duct-taped, superglued heart in their eyes. They’re not crying, not yet, so their voice doesn’t shake, but the hint of moisture slices Yang’s oversized heart to ribbons anyways.

“Thank you.”

“I cook for you all the time, it’s fine.” Fingertips reach out with practiced ease to brush away the threat of tears, but the movement’s awkward and stilted. 

“I know this is different. I know this is... That you.. You…” 

She closes her eyes for a moment at the soft touch, then turns her cheek into Yang’s palm as she slowly opens her eyes again. It’s a relaxed gaze by all appearances, but Yang can tell she’s analyzing Yang, trying to read the room. Torn between jubilation for having all that sharp attention on her and feeling like prey already in its captor’s jaws, she tries to put herself on full display.

“Actually, I must admit, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know what you did - you called my mother and got a recipe that’s from Menagerie, specifically.”

“I…” Yang takes a heavy breath after the false start, then nods, prays she’s giving Blake whatever she needs to feel safe enough to stay rather than bolt. “Yeah. I, I hope that’s not too weird, or like, crossing too many lines. I just, didn’t think that far ahead. It was like… I just…”

Yang sighs and puts her palms on the counter, leaning low and sinking her head below her shoulders. She notices a gunky dish towel she left on the island and begins to idly pick at a frayed edge. Blake wonders if she’s ever seen Yang this raw and vulnerable, their ears flicking with intense intrigue above the rising panic of not being sure how to process what’s happening.

“Look, I wanted to do something nice. Something… special. For you.” She turns her head to stare unseeingly out the window. “Except, I didn’t know what to do. I was… wishing… that I had a mother to ask for advice.” She pretends that she doesn’t see Blake wince, because if she did see that, she won’t be able to get the rest of the words out. “So, I called yours. Because, just because I haven’t got one of my own on speed dial doesn’t mean you don’t have one.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper now, emotion drowning out her usual energy and vibrancy. “I knew that you really love tuna, and then by a stroke of luck Dad was bringing home tuna on this shipment haul anyways - how does that even happen, yanno - but I … I didn’t know what to do with it. So, I called your mu- Kali, I called Kali. It was... nice... to talk to a mother again. She’s,” she fumbles, the sensation that the elder Belladonna woman evokes foreign and hard to describe, “kind, your mum. Gentle strength, it’s admirable, comforting. Brothers, if I’d been raised by her I know I’d have the fear of the gods in me, I kind of still do, but…”

Blake’s face is hard to read, but Yang can tell there’s something complicated happening. She realizes she’s been rambling and throws the towel over her shoulder to give her something else to do.

“Well, anyways. I just. I mean. I hope it’s good. Enjoy your dinner. Please.”

As Yang tries to duck out of the kitchen, Blake grabs her wrist with that wiry strength Yang’s always known she possessed, but never been on the receiving end of. It knocks the air from her lungs and glues her feet to the floor, lilac eyes locking onto gold with shock. When Yang’s stopped retreating, the wristlock fades into holding her hand softly. There’s a soft, hissing inhale when she processes that Blake’s hand isn’t wrapped around hers, a friendly yet distant squeeze, but rather their fingers are laced together. It’s too intimate, searing on her skin. It’s not enough, makes her feel like someone dying in a desert who finds a single cactus they might stave off death with. 

Blake’s grip is steady with all the confidence she doesn’t have, forcing herself to deliver her declaration with as much conviction as she can muster; hopeful that it’s also convincing.

“It’s perfect.” You’re perfect, she doesn’t say, too perfect for me. “Eat with me?”

“Are you sure it’s actually okay? You aren’t just, trying to drag me down with you if it poisons us?”

The joke has no weight in a voice laden with withheld tears and shaking insecurity, but it’s also so, so impossibly warm and tender. Their fingers are still an unbroken weave, individual strands making a whole tapestry.

“Maybe, Xiao Long, maybe… but if this ship is going down, then I guess below is where I want to be.”

Yang feels herself finally break as her shoulders quiver slightly. Blake almost thinks they imagined it until Yang doesn’t speak, but just nods and gestures with her free hand at the messy towel on her shoulder. She doesn’t move to pull her hand away at first, staring at their skin tones nestled against each other in wonderment - like she’s just now noticing they are touching. A fleeting look of shock runs along her face before she slowly pulls back. It’s different, than a pull of disgust or like you’ve been burned, but Blake swears it sears into their being just the same. They wonder if they’ve gone mad and are hallucinating that Yang is staring at her palm while she leaves to go clean up.

It has felt like an eternity by the time Yang comes back, but clean up she did. She’s called her hair a lost cause and put it up in a loose bun-ponytail thing that Blake has never seen before, and tossed on an off-one-shoulder sweater that somehow also has a plunging neckline and some dress slacks. Blake wonders if she’s ever seen Yang more formal, outside of their ‘wedding’ ceremony, and then wonders if there’s ever been water in her body at any point ever because everything is ash, ash, ash, ash and dust. Her mouth and throat stick as she tries to start syllables that die half finished.

“I. You. That is.” They try clearing their throat, face pained by the sensation, and their cheeks glow red like garnets. “You look, good.”

Yang looks up - an odd sight in and of itself, Blake thinks in breathless wonder, given her height advantage and the fact that she’s already sitting down - through her bangs and, holy fuck. The dawning realization feels like being hit with a brick to the face. Blake is mistrustful of the conclusion, however; is it even possible that Yang Xiao Long is shy right now?

“Thanks.” Her eyes flick over Blake’s entirety and they feel more than naked suddenly, somehow mockingly underdressed. “You... I didn’t even really have to look, honestly. You always look amazing.”

Blake ducks her head down, so Yang can’t quite tell, but she thinks the way that Blake’s ears lean back is a positive response. She tells the hard painful lump in her chest that it’s positive, anyways, before pulling herself out the stool across from Blake and filling a plate. Blake quietly flicks a tomato at Yang, who just cocks her head in confusion.

“Thanks for the compliment, nerd.”

“Nerd?” 

A pained scoff. 

“I’m a jock, thank you, maybe a geek at best.”

“Hm, no, you’re right, I was absolutely mistaken. You’re definitely a dweeb.”

“Oh come on!” Yang whines

Blake smiles fondly to themself because they can hear Ruby’s influence in that moment, or maybe it’s just from spending the day with her. It is nice though, to know what the echoes of the sisters in each other look like and to see them shine through. They remember Ruby's inexplicable and unexplained requirement of Blake’s company and they give a huffing laugh.

“You know, both you and Ruby are awful at fudging the truth.”

“Excuse you, I am a master at anything I do.”

“Oh?” Blake fake-challenges, suddenly a feral grin on their face. “So you think you’re skilled at lying to people?”

“I- !” 

Yang sputters, caught in the trap flawlessly. Her eyes dart helplessly around the room, like it will give her a better angle for her spin. The shine of Blake’s ring, bright on the hand they are leaning their cheek on, grabs her attention and she points at it, feeling childish. 

“Well, I mean, I better be, right? We kind of built a life based on it, yeah?”

Blake stills then, not a single part of her moving. Even the usual miniscule satellite motion of her ears is absent, and Yang can’t tell if she’s even breathing. Her gaze is down towards her food, but it doesn’t seem like she’s seeing anything. Her hand moves away from her face and spreads wide on the table, like the hand is up for inspection and she’s presenting it. Yang’s about to ask if the food really was that bad, desperate to cut the tension, when a heavy exhale from Blake leaves her dead in the water in an instant.

“I thought I was good. At lying, I mean. I’ve always felt them slip so easily past my teeth, just as natural as breathing, or a shadowstep. I’ve never really gotten caught, either, or had to face any real consequences.” The fingers splayed on the table clench into a shaking fist. “Just once… and it put so. much. fear into me when the fruit I had sowed came to bear.” Fiery eyes, hard with determination, finally look all the way into Yang’s atomic structure. “It didn’t stop me, though. I lied less, avoided more. Outright misdirections became sleight of hand that was technically true, but not the full picture.” The fist rises and Yang doesn’t even register it as a possible threat, and Blake can barely keep the dark laugh at bay for how lucky that makes Yang. “But now… now I realize…” She uncurls just her ring finger, breaking eye contact to stare at the precious meta bathed in falsehood; it gives Yang the ability to draw breath freely again. “I am the worst at lying.”

“B-Blake?” Yang tries, tentative and scared and suddenly so, so fragile. “Do you… want to leave Patch?”

It hurts to see bright, burning, passionate Yang Xiao Long so small. It leaves them afraid of a rise of bile then tears hit them faster than they can suppress them. Honest tears this time, though they still slip in restrained measures, one at a time and slow, like they’re fighting to roll uphill rather than free fall to betray their body.

“Hah.” Blake scoffs. “Never. I ... I never want to leave. Gods.” She (tries to) blinks back tears and lets out a tense laugh as she leans her head back. “I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it’s honestly true. I could see leaving to travel, but I don’t ever want to leave Patch behind me. I want to always come back here, to this.” She helplessly gestures between them with a limp hand, the one adorned with a flashing ring Yang can’t stop staring at. “I hope… I don’t have to.”

“Then, I don’t ... understand?”

Blake’s whole body shakes with tension as they draw a breath that seems to pull from the whole planet, praying to nothing and everything for just an ounce of the Strength they see in Yang. They can’t do it, not while they can see those gorgeous, heartbreaking lilac eyes pointed their way. They screw their own eyes shut, jaw bearing down on itself as their brow knits together. This means they miss Yang squirming uncomfortably, and her springing forward while desperately clutching the edge of the island to keep her from flying off this plane of existence. 

The way Yang’s head is spinning, she’s afraid it might actually happen.

“Yang, I - “

“Blake, do you want to - “

Both stop, going stock still at the sound of the others’ jumbled syllables, then make tentative eye contact. It’s not the all consuming lock from earlier, instead a skittish brushing that tests the water’s edge. Slower, hesitantly, they both nod and continue their sentences.

“- think I fell in love with you.”

“- go on a date?”

There’s a beat. A tick of their old-fashioned clock somewhere which both forget they even own. It’s a literal second in time. Blake makes a noise first, a ‘tch’ of tension leaking from her chest as she raises her palms to cover her eyes and her ears flatten in amused horror. It’s Yang who says the first fully formed words as they both devolve into tired and helpless laughter.

“Damn, Belladonna, you don’t have half-ass anything.”

“While you’re oblivious.”

Yang doesn’t even process the jab, let alone feel a sting, because suddenly she’s so much farther across the island than she remembers being. Blake’s hidden power is on broad display again as they’ve upset Yang’s center of balance, pulling her over the edge to crash down onto their mouth. Despite the force, it’s not… aggressive, nor brash, or insertive, somehow. It almost feels like… hopeless surrender, rather than the demand it seems on the surface. 

It causes Yang’s heart to flutter and for a brief moment she considers actually being worried that something’s gone horribly wrong with the actual muscle of her heart, but it’s a secondary and fleeting thought. She has much more important concerns.

Like cradling Blake Belladonna’s beautiful, soft (breathtakingly soft) face in her trembling hands the way she holds delicate lives - secure but tender, letting them roam but giving them a safe enclosure to thrive in. Like memorizing the feeling of her wife’s lips, of the taste of their mingled tears (and probably snot, she finds gross-but-funny later), the way it’s like someone finally notices she’s an overdrawn bow ready to snap and releases her string. She moves one hand to Blake’s shoulder as she feels Blake’s go limp. Her face has become fearful, and Yang steadies her so much like an anchor for a ship adrift on a stormy sea.

“Stay.” Yang pleads, begs, asks, demands, with tears threatening to spill while choking her throat. She can’t bring herself to fully separate their lips, not when they’re finally this close.

“Please.” 

Blake surrenders, gives, offers, pleads to be received and treasured and locked away - no take backs. They close the thin break between their mouths again, barely more than a whisper of warmth. 

It’s not the kind of answer Yang could have ever anticipated, or was truthfully prepared to handle. She squirms further onto the slab digging into her hips, so she can more truly hold Blake’s face with tenderness, so she can reach to cradle the back of her neck (and exhaling in relief to feel Blake press harder into contact rather than twist away in panic), so she can touch their foreheads together. She chases Blake’s slightly disoriented eyes until they’re attentively staring back at her.

“Blake Belladonna, I have never wanted anything in my life - figuratively, and literally, in my life - so badly as I want you to just… stay. Here. With me, in Patch, in this village, in this family... “ A shaky, thin wisp of a breath breezes over Blake’s sensitized lips and she trembles, for more reasons than she cares to admit. “In this house, which you make a home, and.. If you want... “ Yang swallows hard again, struggling through the action worse than the day she had to tell Ruby about… “In this marriage, though.. I’d.. I’d like it if we could maybe start a new one.” 

Suddenly all the tightly wound emotions melt into a single nervous, shy girl asking her first prom date out, and Blake feels herself falling all over again. 

“One where we get to love each other, messy and scary and ugly and thrilling as that has ever sounded. You won’t have to ask for space, you just… have to take it. I-If you want.”

Yang’s the one trembling again, but it’s obvious to Blake it’s for only one reason (well, maybe two; it takes an incredible amount of core strength to maintain the position she’s slid into as well as she has, and the allure of that is not lost on Blake for a single moment); vulnerability, utterly raw openness and no protection. They manage the Herculean task of moving their arm that feels made of pyrite to hesitantly touch Yang’s cheek, not risking pressing more than the ghost of their fingertips to that Sun-kissed skin; like if they did, they’d learn Yang was just a figment, a cruel dream, an illusion of their lonely, yearning heart. 

Unlike Blake, Yang is too scared to push into the contact deeper, afraid of her own spell breaking and of having to watch Blake bolt out the door, never returning. She thinks she would actually, literally physically die if that happened. She swallows that horror down her gullet, and prays to the Brothers for mercy…

“The answer is yes.”

It’s the final straw for Yang. She hauls herself on top of the island properly, then drapes her legs to either side of Blake in a fluid moment of grace. She puts one arm around Blake’s lithe form and effortlessly raises her into her lap, surprised but not distracted for a moment when Blake’s legs lock around her own waist with a possessive deathgrip. As Yang tries to capture Blake’s lips for another one of the enigmatic kisses, Blake darts past her face and buries into Yang’s neck. A kiss plants against her jugular that’s feverish and fervent while a hand snakes into her hair near the scalp, a grip of stability and closeness. There’s a whine in her ear almost like a wail, a keening, a whimper, and gods Yang has never wanted to fuck someone in a kitchen before, but damn if she doesn’t want to right now and -

“W-Wait, wait wait wait…” 

Yang’s essentially moaning the interjection and Blake somehow both freezes instantly and nearly launches backwards out of Yang’s grip; or would have, if not for the blonde’s strength. It’s half fear of rejection and half fear of having already ruined something that’s got Blake shaking like a rabbit caught out on an open plain. Part of Yang recognizes this specific kind of fear for what it is and longs to growl savagely, the rest of her knows better than to even remotely let her temper show here and now. Her embrace gets more assertive, but remains tender rather than possessive. Blake can’t fathom how Yang’s arms know the difference, but, it’s there.

“I want this. Want you. Hah, so badly, you can’t possibly know -” Blake snorts derisively, and a fond smile creeps onto Yang’s face in spite of herself. “Okay, point taken. But…” She reaches one hand up to gently stroke back Blake’s silky hair. It’s more luxurious than her wildest dreams, and there’d been some that were… doozies. “I want to do this right, do right by you.” She fumbles while seeking out Blake’s hand to lace their fingers again, feels her abs tremble with nerves and desire still winding itself tight. “I want you - and me, frankly, but particularly you - to be able to choose.” She curtly shakes her head as Blake begins to object. “No. No way. There’s no way you can make that choice right now. I can’t make that choice right now.” 

She plants a soft, warm kiss on the corner of Blake’s mouth that leaves the Cat tingling ear to toe and slightly lightheaded. They consider that maybe Yang has a point. 

“The relief, the … the yearning, it’s… it’s too much, it’s too bright, too intoxicating.” She squeezes Blake to her body a little tighter. “But. I’ll be here. As long as you want me to, I’ll be right here.”

The blatant, open adoration staring at Blake leaves them speechless and helplessly crying while they cradle Yang’s face like precious glass again and they hold her in a drawn out kiss. It somehow feels like the most pure, chaste thing Yang’s ever experienced while also being like throwing gasoline on the fire curling up her spine. Later, Blake processes how it happened - with a whispered, shuddering fuck, that’s hot - but in the moment they’re vaguely aware that the two of them make it to the hallway in essentially the same position. They’re no longer moving, however, instead lingering in the space between bedroom doors.

It’s clear to Blake that Yang’s hesitating about where to take Blake, and Blake doesn’t even break the kiss as they incline their head towards the master that the two are supposed to share together. The one that Blake shies away from more often than not, afraid of being in close proximity to Yang’s form and fearing that they’ve been reading signals that weren’t even there. Yang lays them down with utter care, with reverence, and then tries to lean away. They grasp for her overshirt with the last reserves of their strength tries to pull Yang down next to them. Yang grins, free of mockery, at the precious element of the attempt, but she does get the clue by four.

After settling in next to her spouse, they’re… not quite spooning, but it’s comfortable and it’s… right. Yang is on her side, but has a shoulder pushed forward just enough that Blake’s head rests on her chest, a furred ear slightly twitching against the roar of Yang’s pulse. If she minds the tickle then Blake can’t tell, and it’s like Yang is making a cave around them. Blake’s never felt so unencumbered yet surrounded at the same time, and it gives them a breath that’s a heady rush of freedom.

“Stay,” Blake sighs tiredly.

“Yes” is the hushed answer Blake can feel more than hear. The warmth that somehow isn’t suffocating, the vibrations of another body - a safe body, a kind body - and the comfort of the bed they picked together lulls her to sleep faster than she can process that it’s happening.

It’s the best sleep Blake’s had in their entire life. It’s the first night that’s nightmare free for both of them in untold months, perhaps years.

In the pre-dawn light, Yang’s eyes crack open first and she looks down at the peaceful person curled against her in the exact same position they’d fallen asleep in. She wonders if this is the first time she’s truly seen Blake at peace. She begins to gently, slowly, carefully lace their fingers together after fishing out her scroll to take a timed selfie of their hands intertwined. She angles it to exaggerate where their rings touch and sends it to Ruby. 

Yang isn’t sure if it’s a mental trick of her tired mind, or if it’s what actually happens, but she swears there’s an audible screech of “FINALLY!” at the same time a text with that exact sentiment pings in as Yang lets herself lazily drift back into easy slumber. Who would want to get up at this hour, today of all days? Everything good in life is already laying right next to her… and, drooling slightly. Yang swears to herself then and there that she’ll never tell Blake about it, ever. She is blissfully unaware that Ruby’s picked up on the same detail, and has made no such promise.


End file.
